


Dis Manibus

by evilmouse



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Thrawn Trilogy - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: Thrawn Series - Timothy Zahn (2017)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Animals, Ansion, Camping, Canonical Character Death, Caves, Crack Treated Seriously, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Fusion of Star Wars Legends and Disney Canon, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, Jedi Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, Jedi Temples (Star Wars), Literal Sleeping Together, May the Force Be With You, Moving On, Nightmares, Past Relationship(s), Sleeping Together, Sort Of, Tags Contain Spoilers, The Force, Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo Needs a Hug, Tropes, halloween fic, or a kiss, who is also ridiculously kind
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:00:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27236140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilmouse/pseuds/evilmouse
Summary: On an artifact-hunting expedition to a Mid-World planet, Jedi Luke Skywalker runs into an old enemy of the New Republic...who needs his help.
Relationships: Arihnda Pryce & Luke Skywalker, Arihnda Pryce/Thrawn | Mitth'raw'nuruodo
Comments: 147
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

The people at the remote outpost had been kind, Luke had to admit, trying to focus on the man speaking in thickly-accented Basic on the other side of his tent.

Piyanzi, the nearest city, felt a galaxy away from this tiny village. It was nestled in a small valley, surrounded by what passed for hills on Ansion. He’d come here amidst rumors of an old Jedi chapter house located in the region, but hadn’t had much luck finding anything. Luke didn’t really mind. The idea had been to have something of a holiday, truth be told. Leia had promised the food was good, and the people hospitable. As usual, she’d been right, but upon his arrival here a week ago, the Jedi had entertained a steady stream of supplicants—simple farmers and plainsfolk who thought him some sort of healer or magician. The holonews wasn't particularly popular out this far, so Luke was enjoying the anonymity of his days. He’d cultivated a beard—a cliché yet effective way to alter one’s appearance—and offered the name Ben Lars. No one pressed for more.

True to his nature, Luke tried to help the residents, but sometimes the tasks were beyond him. Or just preposterous. He’d easily received more than twenty pleas for love spells and virility potions, and just as many for miracle cures to imagined diseases. Not a soul seemed to know anything about ancient ruins, artifacts, or Old Republic history, so Luke took off by himself in the afternoons, searching the plateaus and plains and asking the Force for guidance. 

Although he had planned to leave days ago, something was holding him here, a feeling he knew too well to ignore. Whatever the Jedi had done on Ansion, _something_ was out there, and Luke would give himself a bit longer to find it.

“Canss help me, Master Ben ssah?” the man finished his story, eyes bright with desperation.

“Yes,” Luke said firmly. The Trandoshan’s boils were the result of a virus, and one he felt confident the Force could eradicate. Standing up, he crossed the small distance separating them. The farmer flinched at his approach.

“This won’t hurt,” he assured, and reached out with the Force, finding the viral source flowing inside the man’s bloodstream. It was a quick treatment. It had taken many years for Luke to begin to explain to his students how the process worked, and even now he still had some difficulty if a step-by-step lesson was required. Teaching this sort of Force-guided work was challenging, but thankfully he’d had more successes than failures. Luke usually compared it to shining disease out of existence…finding the negative, the thing that didn’t belong, and infusing it with something luminous and brilliant and relentless. And then…the sickness was gone.

The Trandoshan gasped, feeling the lightness—the change—as sometimes Luke’s patients did. For the next ten minutes, he fought off the man’s attempts to pay him for the task. It didn’t feel right accepting credits for something that cost him nothing more than a few moments’ time. He didn’t even feel tired or drained by the effort. So with persistent, gentle refusals, Luke simply asked the farmer to take care of himself, and, if he were so generously inclined, make a donation to a local charity.

Alone again, Luke went back to the small portable table he used as a desk and reached for his daypack. It was already later than he liked, if he wanted to head out into the fields again. Wandering was nice, the natural beauty of the prairies recharging and peaceful. He’d head back to the Academy in the next day or so, Luke vowed. But he’d allow the Force a little more time to show him its path, reveal its intentions. In the meantime, he was doing some good for these people.

“Excuse me.”

Luke looked up to see a hooded figure, wearing glareshades and a dark purple wrap—a typical style for Piyanzi residents. It wasn’t an outfit he’d seen in the village outpost, though, more of a city look.

“Hello.” 

Another person seeking his intervention, that was already clear. The woman opposite exuded despair, raw and unsettling. He could sense her jumbled distress, thick with embarrassment, and quickly pulled back. Luke tried not to feel like he was intruding, but often the emotions of others were so strong it was difficult to shield himself without preparation.

She gave no reply, looking around the inside of his small field tent, and finally took off the shades. Deep blue eyes, widely set in a lined brow, met his with what could only be called challenge.

Luke came out from behind his little table and sat cross-legged on the matted grass ground, gesturing in invitation. There was a pause, a shuffle, and the woman took a step closer.

“You’re some kind of shaman?”

“Not a shaman. But sometimes I can help.” Luke held her gaze from below. He sensed something more than wariness. This woman was damaged, deeply. It was possible her illness was beyond his abilities. There was a darkness—not _the_ Dark, not that, but something oppressive and dense that shrouded her movements. 

She didn’t move again, and looked away, over to the folding stool near the tent wall. Luke slid to his feet, realizing his error. Apparently she couldn’t sit comfortably on the floor. Older than she looked, maybe.

“Please, have a seat.” The figure moved stiffly, and Luke pulled the stool closer to minimize the necessary steps. There was definitely a physical ailment, but that didn’t explain what he sensed troubling her. 

As she sat, her hood slipped.

Uneven waves of old burn scars mottled an indigo-veined throat. Her face had been spared most of the fire’s wrath, its angular smoothness only lined by faint wrinkles framing her eyes and lips. However her injuries had clearly once been severe, and Luke was uncertain his powers could assist. He hadn’t ever dealt with vesication remnants like this, or been asked to. She needed a reconstruction emdee, or surgical cosmetology. Not Force healing.

“I should tell you—” he began.

“I have nightmares,” she interrupted firmly. “Constant. I have not had a full night’s sleep—or a dreamless one—in years. Can you help?”

Those blue eyes returned to his, searching and skeptical. It wasn’t about the scars. Her wounds were internal. That was the source of the darkness, the shadows in her aura.

Luke didn’t rush to answer. He had helped people with post-traumatic stress, many with lingering psychological injuries, suffering that was more mental than physical. But everyone’s situation was different, and he didn’t have much experience with non-combat-related abuse or torture. This woman appeared to be a civilian, but perhaps not. It wasn’t good to assume, Luke reminded himself, remembering how wrong first impressions could be.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I would like to, but—”

She stood up, tugging the hood back over grey-shot black hair. “I understand.”

“Don’t go yet,” Luke said, reaching for her arm.

The woman spun quickly at his touch, a speed that was incongruous with her apparent age and condition. So she was a fighter—or knew how to fight. She had well-developed defensive reflexes, at least.

“You can’t help me,” she shot at him, a strange tone that was both soft and sharp, caught between a sigh and a curse.

“I _definitely_ can’t if you leave,” Luke answered, wondering why he was bothering. Maybe he couldn’t. He didn’t have time to offer psychotherapy, and it was likely that was what she needed.

She flipped the glareshades in small circles between her fingers, then clutched them tightly, folding her arms.

“How do you do it?” she sneered. “They all,” her neck bent slightly to indicate the denizens beyond his tent flap, “said you healed everything from sterility to Gamorrean clap to schizophrenia. What’s your trick?”

Luke’s lips thinned, debating. It wasn’t a secret. It was the Force, and he hadn’t done anything any other Force healer couldn’t. His own efforts were meager, really, compared to some things he’d read about. He was still—always—learning.

“The Force is my ally.”

She laughed at his pronouncement, an obvious ploy to make him feel foolish. It didn't work. He'd heard similar harsh croaks before, mocking him, his faith. “Of course.” The glareshades went back on. “You’re just a Jedi. Perfect.” As she walked to the door, Luke was more bothered than ever. A spike of her pain struck him, an invisible dagger searching for any and every possible victim. It was too strong to ignore.

“Wait. Please.”

“You don’t want to help me, Jedi,” she sighed. “Trust me.”

“I do.” Luke moved faster than her, blocking her escape. “What’s your name?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.”

“Leave me alone.”

“You’re suffering,” Luke said. It was the only thing he could think of, even though seconds ago he’d questioned his own ability to help. “Give me one minute. One standard minute.”

She hesitated. He felt it more than saw it. Whatever had driven her from the city to this outpost, it was strong enough that she hoped for relief, even if she didn’t trust in the Force.

The arms uncrossed. “One minute.” It sounded like a warning more than an assent.

Exhaling his relief, Luke dragged calm to him like a physical thing, and led the woman back over to the stool. She sat without complaint. Kneeling at her side, Luke held out a hand. Instead of taking it, she stared dumbly at his outstretched fingers.

“Please take my hand. Physical contact will help.”

Without comment, she pulled off one black glove. Thin fingers seized his, a vise-like grip, cold to his touch.

“Will you consent to empathic contact? It may be a little uncomfortable.” Luke paused, feeling those fingers tighten even more.

“What do you mean?” Her voice was keen with authority, clipped in a way that suggested command.

“I mean I have to try to feel your pain from the inside.” He sifted through potential ways to convince her, already worried at her hesitation. “It’s difficult to explain, but often people mischaracterize or misunderstand the source of their own trauma. I should be able to at least identify some possible methods to stop your bad dreams.”

“No.” Her hand released his with as much force as she’d held him a second earlier.

“No?”

“No.”

“But…” The argument died on his lips as a thought, as loud as a shout, smacked into his consciousness.

_I KILLED YOU._

It made no sense. He’d never met this woman in his life. She hadn’t killed him. She posed no danger now, he could feel it. Darkness surrounded her, but wasn’t within her. She was no Sith. Not even Force sensitive, as far as he could tell.

“Tell me your name.”

“Tell me yours,” she snapped.

“B—Luke. Luke Skywalker.”

He wasn’t ready for the reaction, a snort of disbelief. “And I’m Mon Mothma.”

Luke smiled at her mistrust. “You don’t have to believe for me to help.” He took her hand again, gently. “Just like you don’t need to believe in the Force, or the Jedi. But I can’t help something like nightmares without knowing more about what’s bothering you.” Shrugging, he squeezed her fingers once. "And you only gave me a minute. This way is fastest."

“You wouldn’t help me if you knew my name.”

“Try me.”

That angular face turned to him, eyes still hidden behind the shades. “I'm responsible for the death of a Jedi. Me. Killed one of your kind. One of the last. Still want to help?”

The truth of her words blazed in the Force and Luke’s breath caught in his lungs. He didn’t let go of her hand, focusing on the growing warmth he could feel in her fingers. He could—and would—find calm and temper his own reaction to her confession.

The sound of breathing filled his awareness: hers, unsteady, short, and his, slow, deliberate. Luke’s concentration stabilized, the air in the room heavy with a strange tension. When he spoke, it sounded to his own ears that he was distant, in a trance.

“You were an Imperial.”

It wasn’t a question, but she answered anyway.

“Yes.”

“You hated the Rebels. And Jedi.”

“Yes.”

“You suffered.”

“I made others suffer more,” came the reply. “I never regretted what I did. It was my duty.”

“Do you regret it now?” Luke asked, but she was already shaking her head.

“I only regret the nightmares. The fucking nightmares. I want to _sleep_.” Real sorrow coated the last word, and Luke felt some of his buried horror at her past fragment.

“So it’s not guilt…” Luke wondered aloud, doubting she even knew the truth herself.

“No. It’s not.” She stood up, yanking her hand free. “And you’ve had your minute.”

“Governor Pryce.” The woman froze, every muscle in her body seizing as one. Then slowly, inexorably, she took off the glareshades. Real anger glowed in her eyes, menace in her posture. She looked dangerous in that moment—like a woman who could indeed kill without compunction.

“You had no right. I said **_no_**.”

Realizing her interpretation, Luke was quick to deny, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t use empathy or look into your mind. I’ve just read my history. Kanan Jarrus was one of the last known Jedi to die, on Lothal. The Imperial Governor of Lothal was credited with his death, then was killed herself, so the archives claimed, in a fiery explosion during a seige.” Luke gestured to her now-covered neck. “Burns. After what you said...” His own eyes stared into hers, unflinching, undaunted. “I made an educated guess. I promise.”

“And I should take the word of a Jedi?”

The vitriol wasn’t unexpected now, knowing whom he was speaking with… “Yes. You should. I have no reason to lie to you.” Luke took a deep breath, asking the Force for guidance and not sensing any clear path here. “You don’t have to leave. Maybe—”

“Why are you _here_?”

The change of topic was abrupt, but Luke had decided not to dissemble; there was no point to deceit.

“I heard there were ruins of an old Jedi chapter house in the area. I wanted to search them, but haven’t been able to find any traces or clues. The locals have never come across it.”

“No one here understood what you were looking for,” she snarled. “They wouldn’t know a Jedi Temple if it fell on their head.”

Hope bloomed, warm and sudden, in his chest. “Do you know where it is?”

“I’ll take you. _If_ you keep my life here a secret.”

That caveat wasn’t entirely unexpected, but Luke was conflicted nonetheless. She was a war criminal, and he believed in justice. Admittedly he didn’t know much about what else the Governor of Lothal had done during her Imperial tenure, but it seemed an unwise promise to make without knowing more about her crimes. She had just admitted she didn’t regret anything she'd done in the service of the Empire. Luke didn’t sense she was still dangerous, or bloodthirsty, but there _had_ been that look in her eyes a moment ago. It gave him pause. Still…maybe she was reformed. Or could be, if the nightmares that had a hold of her were vanquished.

“Deal, if _you_ let me help with your sleeping problems.”

Her eyes widened, brows lifting in surprise. She clearly hadn’t expected easy agreement, much less a bargain in her favor.

“You _are_ Luke Skywalker, aren’t you?”

Luke nodded. “I am.”

“I don’t need your pity, Jedi.”

“Call me Luke. Please.”

“Fine.” She stood, moving towards the door once more.

“What should I call you?”

“I’m known as Rinda around here. That’ll work.” She looked at him appraisingly. “The Jedi ruins are about a two-day ride from the city by suubatar.”

Surely there was a faster way, Luke thought, then bit back the protest before it left his throat. His X-wing only seated one. And if she’d had a ship she would have offered it, he felt certain. It was likely she had no desire to spend any more time with him than he with her. In any event, two nights camping with an ex-Imperial wasn’t ideal, but he trusted in the Force, and something about this felt destined. He would be careful.

“One and a half if we push it.” Governor Pryce—Rinda—had clearly taken his lack of response for hesitation.

“Two is fine,” Luke said. “It’ll give us time to work on your issue, too.” 

Rinda scoffed. “The north gate of the Qulun market tomorrow at 0600 local. I’ll bring the mounts.” Luke fished around in his belt for a credit chip but Rinda flapped her once-more gloved fingers in a dismissive wave. “Do you have a cloak?” Luke nodded. “Wear it. Kyren swarms in the area are rare this time of year, but not unheard of.”

“Good to know.” He held out his hand, unsure at his own instinct. As before, the woman seemed to not know how to react. “We have a deal. Let’s shake on it.”

Feeling her reluctance in the Force like a treacly weight, Luke smiled tightly as the former Governor of Lothal shook his hand—a quick up and down pump, business-like, bloodless.

“Deal, Jedi.”

“Luke.”

“Luke,” she acquiesced. “Don’t forget the cloak.” Rinda disappeared into the sun-filled afternoon, and Luke sat heavily on the ground. He had too much to think about, but meditation would help clear his mind for a little while.


	2. Chapter 2

Rinda was early, which surprised him. Most bureaucrats, in Luke’s experience, showed up late. He’d thought she would do the same—a power play, however useless. Yet at not even ten to the appointed hour, she was already waiting when the rickety speeder taxi dropped him at the market’s colorful gates. The suubatar looming at her side were majestic creatures—six-legged transports of the aristocracy on this planet. Luke had seen them from a distance but never thought he’d be riding one. The larger animal had deep purple eyes that sparkled in the dim light of dawn, while the other’s gleamed a rich onyx. 

“Good morning.”

“Good morning.” Luke took her returned greeting as a minor victory. He watched as Rinda stepped carefully into the stirrup on the purple-eyed mount, swinging her leg to settle into the viann. Stuffing his supplies into the generous saddlebags of the other, Luke took a moment to pat a hello by its fearsome mouth. His suubatar’s tongue lolled happily at the touch and Luke smiled, scratching behind its ears before less elegantly climbing into his high saddle. The copious straps and handholds suggested he should be ready for a rough ride.

“First time?” she asked, arching an eyebrow at his apparent indecision as to how to properly fix himself to the viann.

“How’d you guess?” Luke grinned back. “Can you ask him to take it easy on me for a couple hours?”

“Her,” Rinda corrected. “Just hang on to the center horn and keep your feet from flying out of the stirrups. The saddle will keep you secure when we gallop.”

“Gallop?”

With a nod, she gently spurred her mount and the suubatar’s three sets of legs moved in unison towards the open prairie. Luke did his best imitation of the movement, wincing as he felt the animal startle. Maybe it had been too hard a kick.

“Sorry girl,” he whispered as it started after the other creature.

~~

It had been almost exactly two standard hours when Rinda glanced over at him. She had studiously avoided conversation thus far, but Luke had seen her periodically checking to make sure he was still there.

“Eee…ell…you…pi. Got it?”

Confused, Luke shook his head in the negative, hair falling into his eyes. The cloak was hot, but he was taking Rinda’s warning seriously and had resisted removing it in the early morning sun.

“E.L.U.P. I’ll say it, you say it. Then hang on and follow, got it?”

“E.L.U.P,” he repeated the letters, the command taking shape in his brain. “Yes, got it.”

Without more than a second’s pause, Rinda yelled, the sound rolling and shocking after the last few hours’ tranquility. “ _Elup_!”

Like a shot, her suubatar was off, rearing on its hind legs and then tearing across the open fields. So mesmerized by the sight, Luke almost forgot that he was being left behind. His mount was still lazily plodding along.

“Elup!” he urged, bracing himself. The suubatar craned her neck around to catch his eye, almost as if to confirm he really knew what he was asking. Just as Luke was about to repeat the order, she launched herself back, first the front legs, then the middle lifting, kicking in the wind. “Good girl!” he hollered, as she raced after her companion. The wind whipped the hood from his head, hair flying around his eyes. It was exhilarating. This was surely one of the fastest creatures he’d ever ridden. 

Luke expected the suubatar to tire quickly at such speed, but they continued, the gallop sometimes dropping to a lope but never down to the morning’s easy saunter. The ruins must be far indeed, if at this rapid pace it was over a day’s ride. 

Once he’d grown accustomed to the rhythm, he looked over to Rinda. She was smiling—the first one he’d seen on her lips, her squinted eyes fixed to the horizon. It appeared this ex-Imperial really did know where they were going. Luke couldn’t tell much except they were headed northeast of the city; the grasslands hadn’t surrendered a landmark for the last hour. He had brought his portable navcomp—Luke wasn’t so trusting as to have left it behind—but it was sort of nice leaving the directions to someone else. _If_ they could be trusted not to get lost. 

~~

Three hours later, both suubatar, as if hearing an invisible cue, slowed to a trot. A small copse of wolgiyn trees rose about a klik to the east, and Rinda turned her animal in that direction. Upon arrival, she reined to a halt and surveyed the shade at length. A dry breeze swirled the leaves overhead into a whispered symphony.

“Everything all right?” Luke didn’t sense any other beings around.

“Yes,” she replied, sliding down to the ground. “Bandits like sheltered locations for ambushes, but it seems safe at the moment.” Walking over to Luke’s suubatar, she steadied its harness with a light cluck. “Ration break.”

“Are you armed?” Luke was curious, trying to dismount and feeling aches in his thighs that promised pain at a later time. With an _oof_ of effort, he managed to reach the grass with dignity intact. 

Rinda was already encouraging the suubatar to graze, nodding in approval as they started munching the long grass nearby. “Always,” she answered without looking at him. “Aren’t you?”

“Always,” Luke echoed her reply, scanning the area himself. “What would bandits want with us out here?”

“The mounts are expensive, they would take those first,” Rinda looked with something not unlike affection at the animals. It was a softer expression than Luke would have expected, and he mentally reminded himself to stop simplifying—resist judging. She was an ex-Imperial, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have pets, or treat them well. “Although I don’t suppose they would anticipate fighting a Jedi,” she continued, turning with her hands on her hips. “I guess you could handle a couple thieves, couldn’t you?”

“Yes.” It wasn’t hubris, it was the truth. Luke trusted the Force for far more challenging tasks than taking down a few bandits. Even if they were in the dozens, he felt confident of victory.

“Good.” Rinda pulled a ration bar and water bulb from her saddlebag. She leaned against a tree and took a long drink. Luke watched the muscles in her scarred throat work as she swallowed, wondering if it still hurt after all these years.

“Why’d you do it?” She didn’t ask what he meant, but Luke supposed clarity was in order. “The intel reports said you took out an entire fuel depot, killing civilian workers and your own security forces.”

Laughing once, that same rough sound from the day before, Rinda ripped open the ration bar’s packaging. Luke reached for one of his own, stomach growling.

“You’re not the only person who’s asked me that question, in the aftermath,” she said, voice hard. “Thrawn was most displeased with my cost/benefit analysis.”

“Grand Admiral Thrawn?”

She nodded. “None other.” A bitter smile touched her lips. “He threatened me, after. I think he wanted to kill me. Or at least…” her eyes met Luke’s “…make me regret it.”

“Thrawn is dead.”

“I know.” A hint of emotion tarnished the acknowledgement. Luke wondered at it. They must have known one another fairly well, but he couldn’t remember exactly the historical details of the liberation of Lothal.

“Were you friends?”

He expected a sharp retort, based on her earlier reactions to his questions, but instead Rinda just shrugged, a deliberate up and down movement of her shoulders. 

“More than friends?”

The question was instinct, impulse, nothing more, but she smiled at his insinuation.

“Now wouldn’t that have been something for the sludgenews, Luke Skywalker, Jedi Knight?” Rinda’s piercing eyes glittered with humor, another surprise, but Luke noted there was no answer to his follow-up. Her tone suggested she’d heard more than a few ridiculous stories about _him_ on the holonet, though. It seemed every other week there was some manufactured scandal or another involving his school, his rumored lovers, or his health. 

Luke wasn’t quite sure how to respond to her dodge, either. False sympathy wasn’t his thing; Thrawn’s death had been deserved, and benefited the galaxy as a whole. So he changed the subject.

“You have family, here on Ansion?”

“No. I’m alone and I like my privacy.” She took another bite of her ration bar, chewing rapidly. “Ansion culture suits me. No one asks questions if you have money or rank.”

“You have both.”

It wasn’t a question, but Rinda shook her head. “Money, yes, I was able to access some funds before leaving Lothal. I’m not rich but I’m better off than many.” She finished the snack, balling up the wrapper and replacing it in the saddlebag. “Rank… I left behind when I ‘died.’”

“Did you ever think about going back?”

He was genuinely curious, but apparently her tolerance for his prying had hit its limit for the moment. 

“My Empire fell, your Rebellion triumphed. I accepted the facts. There are another six hours of riding before dusk, so I suggest you take care of your business instead of worrying about mine,” she threw a hand towards the trees in case he missed her meaning, “and mount up.”

~~

The afternoon passed in a blur. Luke adored suubatar riding, and despite the muscle cramps in his hips and legs, was sad to leave the viann at the end of the day. Rinda had led them to a glen that cradled a narrow, clear-running river. The surrounding hills had indentations and shadows that seemed to indicate caves of some sort, but were too far away to tell. After tying up Cammie (Luke had named her for the camouflage pattern on her flank, and any resemblance to former girlfriends’ names was entirely coincidental) he stretched his limbs, wondering if the water was too cold for a swim. 

“Sting leeches,” Rinda called, apparently reading his mind. “Don’t even think about wading. But it’s safe to drink, if you didn’t bring enough.”

“Thanks.” He appreciated the warning, but was glad he had plenty of rations for the trip. Overprepared was his mantra, ever since getting lost in the Jundland Wastes with Biggs at the age of fifteen. Running out of water wasn’t something that he would ever allow himself to do again.

Returning to the campsite, Luke saw Rinda had already laid out her tent, but not yet set it up. Without asking, he staked and erected it. She watched without comment, handing him the groundfixers as he finished the work.

“Nice shelter,” Luke remarked, moving to put up his own—a smaller one than the field structure he had been operating out of the day before.

“I like to camp,” she answered, tossing a bedroll inside. Rinda seemed as surprised by the volunteered information as Luke, but quickly busied herself getting supplies organized rather than invite further conversation.

“You know,” Luke tried, once she had finished, “knowing something more about your background might help me with the treatment. For your dreams.” She said nothing. “That’s why I asked for the empathic connection…” He saw her glare and backed off. “It’s fine, no need. I’m just trying to help.”

“I think it’s already established you _can’t_ help.” 

Rinda sat down on an outdoors cushion she’d extracted from a saddlebag, well-worn and functional. Unable to hide a wince as she stretched her legs out, she reached for a drink, something pink that Luke couldn’t identify. “It was stupid to even ask, really,” she muttered, leaning back on her elbows.

It bothered him, as did many things about the former Governor. Rinda had come in desperation to someone she thought was a healer, tales from the village outpost somehow reaching her corner of the planet. Seeking help, she’d found a Jedi, a representative of an ideal she had fought against—a person who could have her thrown into prison for the rest of her life. And how long would any detention term really be, at her age? 

The scars from the explosion purported to claim her life had long since healed, but clearly some things haunted her: chronic nightmares that were stronger than her own skepticism. She had hoped—with the reluctant faith of someone with nothing to lose—to find relief, however unlikely.

“It wasn’t stupid,” Luke found himself insisting. “And we made a deal. Let me try.”

“Not letting you in my head J- Luke.”

“Fine, then just talk to me.”

She sighed, sitting up, drawing her knees closer to her chest. Rubbing her temples with both hands, still not meeting Luke’s eyes, she nodded.

“Very well. But you can’t talk away my problem. Don’t think I haven’t tried, you know. Therapists, analysts, et cetera.”

“Did any of them know the whole truth? About your Imperial past?”

Rinda looked askance, off into the swaying shadows of the prairie overgrowth, then shook her head. She crossed her feet at the ankles, one pulsing slightly. Nerves, Luke figured.

“Well, we’re already a step ahead, then,” Luke said firmly, ignoring his own doubts. “But it may not matter. Nightmares can be rooted in strange things—not necessarily the trauma or psychological scars some may anticipate. It could go back as far as your childhood, even if they only manifested after your ‘death.’” He paused. “When _did_ they start, exactly?”

“Nine years after the Battle of Yavin.”

“Were you alone then? Staying with friends or strangers?”

“I was alone." A brief pause, a gulp of night air, and she continued. "I left Lothal in secret, several months after the death of Kanan Jarrus.”

Luke wondered if she brought it up to needle him, decided it didn’t matter.

“Your burns were healed?”

She snorted. “They never really _healed_ , as you can tell. The bacta was substandard, recycled, the medical droids archaic models. It’s a wonder I survived.”

“Clandestine medical treatment often lacks sophistication,” Luke understood, “but clearly you recovered more than anyone would have thought, given the explosion.”

“I was, as I understand it,” Rinda sighed, “tossed clear by the force of the blast. My worst injuries were burns and shrapnel, but I have more than a few synthetic bones and too many skin grafts to count. A few pins and screws in my joints, a shattered hip.” She grimaced. “I was in a coma for about a week. When I awoke, only one person at the medcenter guessed my identity.” She spit the word. “He gave me an ultimatum—leave on the next shuttle or get turned over to the Rebels.”

Now it was Luke’s turn to snort. “Considerate.”

“Very,” she said dryly. “I had time to access my accounts, and nothing else.” There was a hint of regret in the words and Luke wondered what in particular she’d left undone. “I remembered Ansion from intel reports and decided to come here to recover.”

“And stayed.”

“I like it. People don’t ask questions, as I said, and I’ve had many years to figure out where I most felt at home.”

“So no nightmares until you’d settled here?”

“Right.” It felt like an interrogation, when she gave these brief answers. Luke fought frustration. Rinda didn’t want to volunteer any important information.

“What can you remember about the nightmares? Are they just feelings, images, or repetitive themes that you relive?”

“Luke…” 

Her deep blue eyes locked on his, as if asking him to withdraw the question. However, Luke had won his share of staring contests. He wouldn’t back down. Despite her resistance, hope at a solution won out. When she spoke again, Rinda’s voice had taken on a controlled monotone. 

“All of the above, I suppose. Sometimes I wake up screaming, in a sweat, without knowing why. Not always so dramatic, though. Most often it’s just a feeling of…not exactly dread, just sadness, inevitable misery just…” she closed her eyes, voice wavering, “…just permeating everything.” A deep, rattling breath, then she opened her eyes once more. “And sometimes I dream vividly about people dying. Being the only one left. My parents… my friends…”

Luke knew this wasn’t easy for her, but at least she was trying to give him the information. He couldn’t blame her for attempting emotional distance. It wasn’t possible for Rinda to truly open up to him as a perceived enemy, but the attempt told him a lot about how bad it was for her.

“You too? Do you dream about your own death?”

She shook her head. “Rarely. Not enough to be a pattern or cause.”

“Dream about the explosion? Or what led to it?”

“Never.”

“Dream about Thrawn?”

He didn’t know why he asked, but the twitch at her eyelid answered that question before she made the admission.

“I dreamt his death,” she replied quietly. “I’ve seen it happen. Many times. That… that monster that he trusted with his life. I read official reports, and of course the holonews…” Her tone shifted, telling him what she thought of official reporting. “Rukh always was a sneaky bastard, but—”

Realizing her audience, Rinda’s mouth snapped shut, twisting at the corners. She had given him something—what, Luke didn’t know exactly, but he felt the chink in her armor even as he watched her try to recover.

“Anyway, yes, sometimes Thrawn.” She smiled, an odd, forced expression that didn’t reach her eyes. “Happy?”

“This isn’t an interrogation, Rinda,” Luke said, trying to keep his tone even, not confrontational.

“Feels like it,” she grumbled, then seemed to relent. “I get it. You’re trying to help. For some reason.”

“You asked me for help. That’s the reason. That’s what Jedi do.”

“You don’t have a choice, then.”

“Of course I have a choice. Everything is a choice.”

Rolling her eyes, Rinda then looked down her nose as if she pitied him. “Any more questions, Jedi Luke, or is my psych scan done for the day?”

Luke stood, seeing her posture tighten, her muscles clench as he walked closer, sitting again just beside her legs. 

“These nightmares hurt you. That’s why you came to me. Pretending otherwise is a waste of your time as well as mine,” Luke said. “I’m not going to push you, but it would be easier for both of us if you’d be honest.”

“I’m _answering_ your questions,” she protested, growing more agitated. Her voice climbed higher, her lower lip trembling. “I even just _asked_ if you had any more!”

“Tell me why you have bad dreams, Rinda.”

She looked close to tears. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want them to stop?”

“Of course.”

“When’s the last time you slept through the night?”

“I don’t remember.”

“More than a year ago?”

“More than three.”

Her answers came fast, breathless, as if she paused she would stop herself from answering. Luke continued, asking her about her childhood, her parents, anything he could think of to keep her talking. She spoke about growing up on Lothal, the way the Empire had stolen her family's mine they'd worked so hard to develop, her political rise to power, and admitted to horrific deeds sprinkled with good ones. Luke heard names he didn't know, lived what felt like a thousand betrayals and injustices through her biography. The rapid-fire exchange went on for what felt like hours, until the sun set and they both were exhausted. Luke felt no closer to getting to the root of the problem. The nearest experience he could remember was long ago, on Hoth: one of the Gold pilots sleepwalked and scared the shit out of his squadron. Not the walking itself, but the fact that he would randomly let out a blood-curdling scream while doing it.

The man had come to him in tears before being psych-evac’d, begging Luke for help. They’d gone over and over the possibilities, but Luke wasn’t a Jedi at the time, and knew little. He’d attempted a gentle Force probe, but it had backfired. The pilot was stressed, depressed and suicidal, his pain overwhelming. In good conscience, Luke couldn’t recommend the man for duty, and ultimately decided not to intervene in the medical discharge.

Rinda was staring at him, chest heaving in agitation, and Luke realized he’d lost his train of thought. Still, he couldn’t complain anymore about her candor. She’d given him limits on questions about personal relationships, but otherwise been upfront and answered all his questions about her history, family, and Imperial past. He doubted he could have gotten much more out of her with Force persuasion—there wasn't any deceit, just the thick misery of her ordeal, gradually evolving to hopelessness. A random spark of inspiration pushed him to bend forward, asking just one more.

“Are you lonely?”

“Fuck you, Luke Skywalker.” She stiffened, and then pushed him back, getting to her feet with a grunt. “I’ve humored your bantha shit grilling long enough.”

“I once worked with a pilot—”

“This conversation is over.” Rinda made an exaggerated show of brushing the dirt from her pants and then ducked down to enter her tent. “If loneliness is the best you can come up with, it’s no wonder the Jedi are all but extinct.”

“Rinda, please—” he tried again, but the flap closed, the whooshed sound of its security seal locking just after. Annoyed, Luke cursed under his breath, heading inside his own shelter and fastening the flap. He didn’t even know what time she wanted to start again in the morning. As much as he could sense her anger at his ineffectiveness, he blamed himself even more. Perhaps it was folly to try to help, but he wouldn’t give up. There was still tomorrow, and tomorrow night. 

Checking that his lightsaber was in easy reach, Luke spread out his bedroll. The night was warm, so he merely stretched along its length, keeping the travelling cloak wrapped around his arms, and sought his own dreamless sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for brief suicidal ideation.

Luke snapped awake less than two hours later, Force already extended in reconnaissance. Rinda was sleeping and…not alone. Another presence, strong and steady, was in her shelter. Already on his feet, lightsaber in hand, Luke moved across the campsite towards the darkened silhouette of her tent. The wind blew hot against his cheeks, and the Force grew unsteady, a strange shift in the atmosphere that was alarming. Reaching for calm, Luke resisted the urge to slice open her portal with his lightsaber. Instead, swift and stealthy, he opened the flap using the Force to remove the fasteners and ducked inside. 

It was several degrees colder inside than out. And a Jedi didn’t really need light to see…a good thing. In the unlit interior, Luke perceived Rinda’s face twisted as if in pain, but she slept on. And… there was nothing and no one else. The sensation of another person’s lifeforce had evaporated like moisture on a sandstone. Luke took a deep breath, trying to remember anything he could about what he had sensed. It wasn’t…threatening. But it _was_ negative, something—

Rinda jolted upright with a shout, eyes still screwed shut. Kneeling, Luke brushed the blaster at her side out of grasping distance and spoke softly. 

“Rinda.”

A low moan.

“Wake up, Rinda.”

She lay back down instead, determined to stay unconscious. Luke decided it was too important to just leave, and it felt wrong to not let her know what had happened—what he now understood with the certainty of the Force to back him up.

“Rinda.” A brief touch on her shoulder accompanied the name. In a flash, she bolted awake, mouth open and eyes wide. Luke expected an attack or scream of anger at finding him there, bracing himself to endure rage and indignation. Instead thin arms seized him, wrapping him in a crushing embrace. It wasn’t unlike one of Leia's twins, having a bad dream when they were toddlers. Luke’s own arms automatically wound around her, instantly knowing comfort and not violence was her aim. Rinda heaved gasping breaths into his cloak, her wiry fingers twisting into the coarse material.

“It’s all right,” he murmured, the words as much a reflex as her reaction had been. “It’s gone.”

He felt her emotions nakedly in the Force—fear and embarrassment were predominant. But there was also a distinct undercurrent of relief that he never would have predicted. The Force was far too often mysterious; bringing him here to this planet, to this former enemy—it was as much a test for her as it was for him. Luke didn’t know if he would pass, but at least now he knew where to begin.

After several long moments that were less awkward than they should have been, Rinda’s arms relaxed. Taking the hint, Luke let his fall, settling back on his heels. She wiped a forearm over her face, then met his eyes. Luke felt the effort, her sheer willpower required to do so. Arihnda Pryce was a strong woman, but her insomnia and its accompanying emotional exhaustion had debilitated her. Whatever she’d just experienced in her dreams, it still lingered in the set of her shoulders, the stiffness of her jaw.

“Another nightmare,” she said, voice somber. “Was I screaming?”

“No,” Luke answered softly. “And it wasn’t just a nightmare.” He reached out instinctively for her hand, hoping she would believe and trust him. “It’s a ghost.”

Those blue eyes went through myriad transformations in only seconds. Round with surprise, narrow with skepticism, dim with fear, and finally sharp and clear with acceptance. Luke didn’t know what Rinda had been like in her prime, but he felt like he was getting a glimpse. She was not easily shocked or cowed; it wasn’t hard to believe she had been a formidable opponent all those years ago. It was a disturbing thought, but Luke accepted it and let it dissipate into the chilly ether of the night air. Time enough later to dwell on her misdeeds.

“A ghost.” Her voice was less sure than her expression, almost a whisper.

“Yes.” Luke squeezed the fingers she let him hold. “I have some experience with them, although never one quite like this.” He tried to look with some reassurance at her questioning head tilt. “It’s not a Force ghost, though, and that’s where my expertise lies, I suppose.”

“A _Force_ ghost?” 

Nodding, he let her hand drop, glad that she wasn’t arguing with his diagnosis. “Yes. Everything is part of the Force. Most people think of it in relation to the Jedi, but it’s much more. In me, yes—but it’s in you, too, Rinda. It’s everywhere and penetrates everything.” Luke felt a change in her, some resistance, and tried to keep the lecture on topic. “Some Jedi—and Sith—learned how to stay in—or visit—the physical world after death. Their spirits can retain the appearance of living forms, and may even have power to interact with the corporeal world.” 

“So what did my ghost look like?”

“This…” Luke searched for the right words. “This was a spiritual presence, but in no physical form I recognized. It didn’t _look_ like anything—it fled when I came in—although when I sensed it, I believed it to be a person—humanoid or similar enough to come across that way in the Force.”

“You saw it from your tent?” Her question wasn’t doubting, exactly, but dubious.

“Sensed it in my sleep, I think. It was a very powerful, negative energy that awoke me.”

Rinda shivered. “Does it want to hurt me?”

“No.”

She raised an eyebrow, wrapping her arms around herself like a shield. “You sound very sure.”

“I am.” Luke shrugged. “It _was_ negative—I can’t explain that impression exactly—but no, not threatening. I know that doesn’t make much sense. Sad may be a better word.”

“So some dead person _does_ want to make my nights a living hell? But _doesn’t_ actually want to _hurt_ me?” Her voice got a little pitched, angry, and Luke could see her point. But he felt sure of his impression.

“Who is it?” he asked. “You must have an idea.”

Those blue eyes narrowed, and Rinda bit her lip as she began pushing away the top of the bedroll, then apparently thought better of it. “It’s my fault now?! That something— _someone_ —is haunting me?”

“I didn’t say that.” Luke knew patience was critical, but she didn’t make it easy. “But a non-Force sensitive spirit is extremely rare for the living to perceive. They exist, as I understand it, in the spiritual realm, waiting to rejoin the Force when they’re ready. But for it to manifest _here_ , and stay with _you_ every single night for years…” Luke trailed off, but didn’t see understanding in the woman staring at him. More like denial. Rinda needed to be confronted with reality. 

“It suggests that it’s someone you’re holding on to, or someone with something left unfinished that involves you.”

“Unfinished?” It was a question, but Luke saw she had already answered it in the rigidness of her shoulders, the sadness in her face. He waited to see if Rinda would admit the truth as silence piled up like bricks in a wall between them. After almost a minute, it was clear she would not.

“It must have been a very strong bond,” Luke said softly, “to keep him here this long.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “Go away.”

Luke stood, uncomfortable but resolute. “I’ll make us some hot chocolate.” The implication he would return was clear, and Rinda made no protest as the Jedi ducked outside and headed to his supply pack.

~~

A warm drink, his aunt always said, made everything better. Luke smiled at the remembered adage. The first time Aunt Beru had offered him a hot chocolate, he’d balked at the very idea of drinking something steamy in the heat of the desert. He hadn’t been able to resist the enticing smell for long. Quickly hooked, as a kid Luke liked it best before bed, even on the most arid nights. It had been perfect for banishing bad dreams when the Tatooine midnight filled with chill winds and unforgiving sandstorms. It wasn’t always easy to come by, but Luke tried to keep a stock with him. The sweetness on his tongue was just as delicious as always, no matter where he was in the galaxy—something of home, something familiar and stabilizing and comforting. He didn’t know if the haunted woman in his camp had any similar associations, but he would give her a moment’s privacy and return with something warm to hold.

Field mugs in hand, Luke pushed unasked back into Rinda’s tent. She had fully dressed, sitting on top of her bedroll. That aura of determination had stayed, Luke was glad to see. He handed her the cup and she took it, taking a long inhale of the steam. A fleeting smile lifted one side of her mouth.

“It’s been a long time since I had hot chocolate.”

“I’m addicted,” Luke smiled, sitting opposite and imitating her posture. “Since I was a kid.”

Rinda took a tentative sip. It was too hot, but the temperature apparently didn’t bother her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat in silence, drinking, for several minutes. Finally Rinda turned eyes from the half-full cup to Luke.

“I don’t understand how this is happening. It doesn’t make sense.” She pursed her lips. “How have you gotten rid of ghosts before?”

Luke set down his mug, ordering his thoughts. “As I said, my experience is with Force ghosts—Jedi and Sith. I’ve heard of these others—I guess most people would say “normal” ghosts—but never encountered one before.”

“You said the ghosts you saw had power, could interact.”

“Yes. Sith spirits may cause great damage, and can be difficult to destroy. It depends. One I encountered had ancient power, strong and Dark. A Sith ghost may seek to possess, or menace, or be reborn.” Luke tried to explain, ticking off the possibilities, the memories of Exar Kun’s defeat far too recent and fraught. “Jedi ghosts,” he continued, “they may stick around for a while if they are able, imparting messages or fulfilling some task, and then they rejoin the Force, just like everyone else.”

“Gone forever?”

“Gone from the physical realm, but always with us, as the Force lives on, and they rejoin the Force.”

“Sounds like a lot of mystical crap, Luke,” Rinda gave him a crooked look, but drank her hot chocolate.

He wasn’t offended. Luke lived in the Force and knew the truth of what he said. Doubters never bothered him; there was proof all around them. “It _is_ mystical. And wonderful, to know that our loved ones are forever with us—not just a part of us, but in every living thing. Just as we are connected to everything.” He smiled. “The starlight, the trees, the smallest bug beneath a rock.”

“And the rock too, I suppose?”

Luke laughed softly at the vision her question summoned of a skeptical apprentice on a swampy planet. “Exactly. We’re connected to the rock too.”

She smiled back, more at ease, and shrugged as if he were a lost cause. “So what I’m hearing is you aren’t qualified to handle my ghost.”

The ambiance turned serious once more, and Luke gave her a hard look. “Are you sure you _want_ it handled, knowing now why you’re having these dreams?” He didn’t wish to condemn this spirit to haunt her, but she needed to understand the implications of returning it to the Force, too. No more nightmares, but also no more contact, however stressful or troubling.

Rinda inhaled—a deep, shuddering breath. It wasn’t a question she liked, clearly.

“I can’t live like this,” she said quietly, “…not knowing there’s a solution. Plus,” her face crumpled, now almost begging, “it’s not fair to the ghost, right? To…stay here instead of moving on.” She waved a hand towards the tent’s roof. “Rejoin your Force, become one with the stars, whatever.”

“That’s the natural order of things. The way of the Force.”

Her eyes looked watery again, and Rinda swallowed hard. Taking the last sip of chocolate, she set down the mug and leaned back on her palms. “So what do I have to do?”

“You probably already know, even if you don’t want to admit it. Or tell me.” Luke decided to push just slightly. “Just like you know it’s Thrawn.”

The color drained from her face, and Rinda tensed as if hit by a freezebolt. Her brows drew together, contemplating denial. Then she nodded once, slowly. “I suppose it is. He, I mean,” she corrected. “I supposed it’s him.” A weak curve of her lips. “I haven’t known many people as persistent and stubborn as that bastard. If anyone was going to resist being dead, it’d be him.”

“For you,” Luke added.

“Stop that,” she snapped.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “but it’s true. He’s here for you. You’re keeping him here, whether or not you want me to be aware of the fact or not, it _is_ a fact.”

“Fine.” Rinda sighed, fiddling with the edge of her bedroll. “Fine,” she repeated, offering nothing more.

“When I sensed him,” Luke went on, unsure if using Thrawn’s name would make things better or worse, “the main emotion was grief. He exudes a wash of misery and unhappiness. Nothing physically dangerous, but loneliness, sorrow.”

Her lip trembled, but Rinda brought it under control quickly. “Isn’t that what I _told_ you it was like?” she asked, seething. “When I talked about my nightmares? Misery and darkness…” She glared at him, fortified by indignation. “Do you just expect him to be _happy_ about being dead? Are you surprised to find a murdered ghost is…” she flung a hand towards the ceiling and rolled her eyes “unhappy?”

“So how can we fix it?”

She coughed, somewhere between derision and laughter. “Fix it?! He’s _dead_. Assassinated by his own bodyguard! Thrawn is _not_ coming back, can’t change the past or save himself.” Her voice broke but she plowed on, enraged now. “He clearly can’t manifest completely or _finish_ anything like your special Jedi ghosts.” Now she was yelling.

“But what _would_ he finish? If he could?” The volume of Luke’s voice never changed, as even and normal as he could make it. It wasn’t an easy task—he felt her pain, knew she was right, and understood her reaction more than he would like to admit.

Abruptly, the anger vanished as quickly as it had come, and Rinda’s forehead wrinkled with frustration. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“Stop thinking about the right answer and tell me what you feel,” Luke insisted. “This isn’t science, Rinda, it’s about a connection that defies science.”

“If he’s here for me…” She was almost whispering. “Maybe he wants me to join him.”

“Don’t even think about that,” Luke said firmly. “If he cared for you, he wouldn’t seek your death. Regardless, I got no such impression from his presence.”

“Well, Mister Supersmart Jedi, what impression _did_ you get? What does he want?”

“I don’t know. But we’ll find out.”

“How?”

“We go to sleep. And wait. He’ll come back.”

“With you here?”

“I think so.”

“I don’t.” Luke cocked his head in question at the certainty in her voice. “Why would he come back with _you_ here? I’m sure he hated you, just as much as you hated him.”

It was on the tip of Luke’s tongue to dispute her assessment, but he decided it wasn’t worth it.

“Then perhaps to see why I’m hanging around with his…” Luke gave a half-shrug, letting the word stay unsaid. “Curiosity if nothing else? Concern for why you’re keeping company with a Jedi?”

She smirked. “Curiosity perhaps, but not jealousy. No offense, but you’re not my type, Luke.”

He smiled back, pleased at the tacit confession in her reply. “None taken.” Pointing to her travel pillow, Luke took up his favorite meditation posture. “Try to rest. I’ll stay here, like this, for when he returns.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep.”

“I can help, if you like.”

Rinda arched an eyebrow. “No thanks.”

“The Force,” he muttered, embarrassed. “Relaxation techniques, that’s all.”

“You’re blushing, Luke Skywalker.” Luke didn’t really think he was, but was pleased to hear the light-hearted note in her voice. He’d been worried that she might actually be considering suicide earlier. If convinced Thrawn wanted to reunite in death, it was a believable course for a desperate person to attempt. It was a relief that she’d apparently rejected that option. Rinda was a fighter, if nothing else, that was evident. Or perhaps the passion, or whatever tied Thrawn to her, had been unevenly apportioned.

“Good night, Rinda.”

“Call me Ari instead,” she said, lying back down. “That’s what my friends always called me.”

“Good night Ari,” Luke said, touched by her words—the name she’d offered. It was hard to think of this woman as the cruel torturer and killer of hundreds, but he supposed many of his friends didn’t see him as a mass murderer either. Didn’t mean it wasn’t true, from a certain point of view.

“Good night Luke.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since our ghost has appeared, allow me to explain the title, if you don't know and wish to understand the Latin.
> 
> 'Dis Manibus' was a conventional or formulaic dedication that was carved on Roman tombstones and etched on graves, sometimes abbreviated as D.M. It refers to the uncategorized/generic ghosts of the dead that are not yet assigned benevolent afterlives or malevolent afterlives. Although it literally means "for/to the Manes (the gods/spirits of the Underworld)" and could be read as intercession, it may be simpler to think of it as something akin to "for the ghost of" and the name of deceased inscribed after. Since we aren't sure (at first) what this ghost wants, or exactly how naughty or nice he is, it seemed appropriate. Thank you for reading this and sorry for my annoying title!


	4. Chapter 4

Slipping into meditation had become easier after the war. Luke rarely had trouble finding a calm center, a place to wait, to recharge, and to clear his thoughts. He trusted in the Force, knew it had a plan. But the tranquil space within himself was clouded with conflict as he went through his standard preparation.

Coincidences had stacked up beyond any reasonable probability. Every impulse screamed to question his role in this—why he was drawn here to help not one but now _two_ former enemies. And not just enemies of the Rebellion or New Republic—Thrawn had presented a personal threat to his own family: his sister…her children…and himself. When word had come of the Grand Admiral’s death, systems everywhere had breathed a collective sigh of relief, the Skywalkers and Solos perhaps loudest of all. Thrawn’s ambitions of domination had crumbled, his fleet scattered, and hard-won peace restored.

Luke had always assumed such a man had to have more than a normal dose of hubris, to attempt such a vast, doomed campaign—megalomaniacal as well as immoral, to say the least. A powerful personality, touting liberation even as he sought to subjugate; unscrupulous enough to attempt to kidnap unborn children, vicious enough to collaborate with the worst of the galaxy’s criminals to pursue his fearsome goals. 

Inhaling deeply, Luke struggled to stop the trajectory of his thoughts. It was futile to question at this point. The facts were the facts, and he would not deny the truth that shone plainly in the Force: The man that had been Grand Admiral Thrawn was dead, yet his soul was tied to the woman that had been Governor Arihnda Pryce. Whatever history there was between them, it had been enough to transcend the natural laws of death, to keep his essence at her side. The vigil Thrawn’s spirit maintained required an enormous effort, Luke was certain of that. Ari’s will or Thrawn’s—it hardly mattered. They both needed rest. Whether or not they deserved it was a different question, and for the moment, a pointless one. So regardless of his personal prejudices, Luke would do his best to put aside the past and deliver the service the Force decreed. 

“Emotion, yet peace,” he told himself. “Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.”

The mantra repeated, driving out Luke’s questions, his conflicted feelings about the task the Force had set for him. Forgiveness was the way of the Force, the way of the Jedi. Thrawn’s evil intentions may have died with him, and Luke knew more than anyone how futile it was to paint the galaxy with anything other than a grey brush. It wasn’t beyond even the most cruel among villains to love. Luke knew that firsthand. Still…

Luke clung to the Jedi Code, knowing its acceptance of contradictions was more important than ever for what lay ahead. Could he help Thrawn’s spirit find serenity despite whatever fruitless passion ruled it now? Or peace in the face of an emotional wellspring that had survived death? The hypotheticals attempted their destabilization, but Luke released all doubts like flewts into an updraft.

Nothing was impossible with the Force. 

Finally meditative tranquility descended, a welcome emptiness that Luke felt as a warmth sliding along his spine, soothing his nerves and loosening his muscles.

He sensed Ari slip into unconsciousness not long after, a soft settling of her presence at his side. Luke returned his attention inward, focusing on his breathing, his unity with the Force.

Some time after, it—he—reappeared. A sudden assemblage of energy that quickly congealed into the bleak weight of emotion Luke recognized from before. Keeping his breathing even, his eyes closed, Luke reached out, seeking a connection, a contact.

The heavy and dim sensation flickered, bursting into a flash of light in Luke’s mind as he felt the spirit’s awareness of him. It retreated, almost vanishing, and then returned quickly, as if afraid to leave.

Luke visualized a conduit, a tendril of the Force extending from himself. He needed to offer a path of communication, although he wasn’t quite certain what form it would actually take. If Ari was right, and Thrawn hated him too much to remain, the ghost’s realization of his identity could accomplish the same thing: pushing it back to its proper realm. Shoving that idea quickly to the back of his mind, Luke focused on the ghost, its existence in the Force. Surely the possibility of contact would be appealing after so long in its purgatory. Surely Thrawn wouldn’t reject the chance to connect with Ari, no matter the messenger.

A streak of recognition whitened behind his eyes, and Luke fought to keep them closed. He waited, but there was nothing more. Thrawn knew who he was…but didn’t communicate…or couldn’t.

Grasping at the fainter essence in the Force, Luke decided it was up to him.

_Ari is safe. Ari is ready for you to move on._

Resistance, not quite anger, but something definitely disputing his words melded with the air.

Luke tried again. If Thrawn didn’t believe him, or didn’t care about his message, there was something else at stake. Luke truly didn’t know, didn’t understand, and wasn’t accustomed to this strange method of communication. Even calling it ‘communication’ was generous. The ghost was aware of him, and he was aware of it. That was about the extent of it, as far as Luke could confirm. Still, the fact that Thrawn wasn’t hostile to his presence here was encouraging. It hadn’t fled. It was waiting, wanting something. It appeared the ghost saw hope in Luke’s involvement. Perhaps it would help to confirm his intentions…

_Thrawn…I want to help._

The ghost… settled somehow. A renewed melancholy consolidated its energy into a blanket of gloom, replacing the contrary response of earlier. It was difficult to interpret that reaction, and Luke’s muscles started to tense in nascent frustration. Taking a deep breath, he forced them back to slackness.

_Is Ari keeping you here?_

Nothing, no change in the presence. Luke focused on that mental wire, the line of contact he was struggling to maintain. He _did_ feel something one might characterize as a touch…something connected in the Force.

_Why are you here? Why do you stay?_

Complicated questions, delivered on impulse, and Luke didn’t expect much of a response. But he got one—a crush of feeling that pressed against his skin like a physical clasp. Loneliness, yes, that earlier sensation was now honed like a knife, sharp and vicious and inescapable, but speckled with haphazard light, the absolute opposite of everything the ghost had conveyed before. This was a consuming ardor, an affection that infused Luke’s blood with ebullience, making him feel as if he could levitate from the lightness. All the former weight was gone, replaced by this ethereal, magnificent expression of completeness.

Luke’s hands fisted against his knees. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, trying to deny the reaction in his own body to the ghost’s revelation. As predicted, there was a lot that Ari was holding back about this relationship. Of course he'd suspected—Luke wasn’t naïve, no matter how much he didn’t really want to dwell on Imperial romances—but the devotion he felt was combustible, overpowering, and wonderful. Clearly Ari inspired it, and clearly Thrawn was tethered to her—dedicated to her—by this inarguably positive emotional attachment. 

Luke didn’t feel equipped for this—a relationship counselor to the dead. It was hard enough to separate the ghost from the person it had been, understanding that Thrawn’s spirit had been distilled to this most important, relevant aspect of its lifetime’s motivation. Still, Luke needed to understand more. If _Thrawn_ was the source of the loneliness that seeped unchecked from its supernatural presence, it would be difficult to convince him to leave his chosen partner. But if he was there because he was channeling the emotion from Ari…then demonstrating she was _not_ , or alleviating the condition, might be the simplest solution.

Luke didn’t know what to do. Which was which? It took him a little longer to find calm once more, gently shielding himself from the full strength of Thrawn’s extrasensory communication. When at last he was able to focus, Luke found that streak of recognition again—once more burdened with loss. He would try to message as completely as possible, opening up his mind, attempting a more complex dialogue.

_I understand. Let me help both of you._

His senses became jumbled, overwhelmed with anxiety. Luke tried to send thoughts of tranquility, sleep, peace. There was no reaction to his suggestions. Luke tried again. Ari camping, a smile on her face. Ari drinking hot chocolate. His knowledge of the woman was so limited, and with little idea what sort of outcome Thrawn desired, it was like searching for a Jawa’s tooth in the Dune Sea. Attempting to show she had moments of joy, of peace, Luke persisted. Ari lying down to sleep, Ari galloping on her suubatar, Ari—

Abruptly the image of their impromptu midnight embrace shattered Luke’s concentration. Ari’s arms locked tight around him, his hands soothing against her back. Her hands clenched in his cloak, her tears wetting his tunic. 

Luke tensed at the memory, anticipating a problem—criticism or that resistance of earlier, but instead, he sensed…approval? Realizing the ghost had selected that image, not wanting to wonder how (had Thrawn somehow pulled it from _her_ mind, or _his_?) or why, Luke focused on what was being communicated. It was the _only_ image Thrawn had sent, the only thing powerful enough to materialize as a concrete visual from the spirit. And still this sensation of acceptance remained—sanction, even. 

Thrawn was far from angry at the hug he’d given Pryce. And Luke, feeling stupid at taking this long to figure it out, understood.

_She’s lonely. Not you._

Luke sent the idea along what he had started to consider the paranormal thread connecting them, and something invisible and cold gusted through the tent in response.

_I understand._

The atmosphere warmed slightly, the heaviness of the ghost’s negative energy almost halved. 

_She’s not alone. She won’t be. I’ll help her._

The promise had barely been transmitted when there was a change in Ari’s presence in the Force. She was alert. She had awoken, but Luke had no idea for how long or what she had seen. And Thrawn…Thrawn was gone.

Luke opened his eyes to see her sitting up, wiping at her face.

“I…” she choked on the word and tried again. “I felt…”

“He was here. We…talked.”

She nodded, giving up and letting the tears come. Remembering the ghost’s wish, Luke moved to Ari’s side and offered her his arms. This time, he wasn’t surprised when she accepted the hug, and was relieved that it felt right. He didn’t begrudge her comfort, especially now that Luke had a fuller picture. Things had started to make sense. And Thrawn appeared to be right. Ari needed a friend.

~~

It was harder to empty his mind the second time.

Tonight, Ari had confided, her dream had been different—not the nightmare of before, but nonetheless oppressive, distressing. It was difficult to explain what had transpired while she slept, but Luke did his best, trying not to sound condescending or pitying when he mentioned Thrawn’s disapproval of her loneliness. He’d agonized a little, wanting to figure out the best way to give her the information, fulling anticipating this former bureaucrat’s subjective analysis and skepticism. At first, Luke left out the visual the ghost had highlighted, then abandoned that idea. Ari deserved to know everything, if they were going to resolve the situation. If Thrawn believed she needed more physical contact and support, Luke wasn’t going to hide the fact.

Once again she surprised him. Merely nodding at his words, in apparent acceptance, Ari then halted any possibility of discussing a plan by announcing—in that firm, take-no-prisoners supervisory tone she could summon—that she would go back to sleep.

“I’ll stay,” Luke replied.

“Suit yourself,” she returned, rolling onto her side in the bedroll, facing away.

Luke stayed, and Ari slept. 

The ghost had always come at night, according to Ari, but something told Luke it wouldn’t be back this evening. After an hour of breathing exercises and calming techniques, he straightened his legs and stretched out on the thin synthcloth that made up the floor of Ari’s tent. He’d had less comfortable beds, and was undeniably exhausted. The soft sound of his traveling companion’s respiration was steady and slow. So, despite everything, soon Luke slept as well.


	5. Chapter 5

They awoke at the same time. Without looking at him, Ari yawned a good morning. She stayed in her bedroll, making no comment about the night’s events. Taking his cue, Luke rolled to his side and stood, ducking into the dawn’s grey light and clucking a hello at the suubatar grazing near the river.

A quick trip to his tent and Luke was ready for the day’s ride. He broke camp without a word, his thoughts wonderfully blank thanks to the ingrained tasks of simply preparing for a journey. Less than a half hour later, they were appropriately packed, saddled, and caffed up.

As they had the day before, Luke’s mount followed Ari’s, and they established an easy rhythm for the animals. Elup, trot, elup, trot, walk, elup, trot, and repeat. Just before the sun hit its highest point overhead, Ari slowed her suubatar and pulled it alongside Cammie.

“We’re making very good time. I didn’t expect you to take to your ride so well.” A slight smirk punctuated the admission, offering a glimpse of something not unlike pettiness, although it was obviously a compliment. Luke smiled in return, determined to keep his doubts and internal complaints at bay.

“So ahead of schedule?”

“Yes. We’ll arrive in about three hours if we don’t stop for lunch.”

Sounded like a plan, but… “What about Cammie?”

“Cammie?” She looked at him like he’d grown another head.

“Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot to tell you. I named this sweet girl Cammie. For the shading on her flanks.” Luke shrugged. “Unless she already had a name?”

Ari stared at him for another beat, and then just shook her head.

“Great! And yours I’ve been thinking of as Sammie, if that works, since they’re a family.”

“Are all Jedi so ridiculous in their priorities, Luke Skywalker, or just you?”

He grinned unselfconsciously. “Nothing wrong with making friends, right? They’re part of the team.”

“There is no team,” Ari scowled. “They’re transport that has to be fed. Practical and temperamental. The only reason I use them is there are no maintenance docks out here. If a speeder breaks down this far from the nearest outpost, you can’t eat it until you get rescued.”

Despite her words, Luke sensed Ari was fighting the discomfort of letting him know that she felt any affection for the animals. Luke pat the neck of his suubatar, drawing a happy bellow from its throat. “Good girl, no one’s gonna eat you,” he murmured, still smiling, then turned back to his travel companion. “Well, you obviously take good care of them.”

“So they’ll take good care of me, Luke. Don’t be preposterous.”

“Too late, apparently.” He offered the animal another stroke along the line where the saddle met its back, and asked Ari again. “Anyway, don’t they need to stop for food?”

“They’ll be fine. They’re bred for distance and can go up to three days without eating. If we arrive at the ruins earlier, they get a longer rest. Think of it like that.”

Nodding, Luke leaned far out of his saddle towards the other creature, scratching behind Sammie’s ears before settling back in his viann. “Let’s ride through lunch then. See you later Sammie!”

Ari rolled her eyes as if he were an unreasonable child and let out a particularly vehement “ELUP!” Cammie followed as soon as he echoed the order, and Luke closed his eyes in delight as they flew across the plains.

~~

The chapter house ruins were not at all what Luke had expected. On other planets, similar structures were weathered foundations, tumbled walls, and fragments of stone. Sometimes a collapsed roof would yield something of value, buried by age, neglect, or violence. But Ansion’s Jedi had done something new—they had found what appeared to be the only mountain for thousands of miles, and tunneled inside. The Force converged here, a steady, fortifying stream that still pulsed with the power it used to host within. The caverns, as far as Luke could tell, weren’t particularly vast, but a sentient-made underground network where the old order had lived, taught, and thrived. Until the fall of the Republic. Some large boulders blocked the carved-out entrance, but lifting rocks was something Luke had learned well.

Ari had opted to set up her tent and was seeing to the suubatar while Luke ate a ration bar as he explored. It soon was clear how limited his possibilities were, unfortunately. He didn’t have spelunking gear with him, other than a headlamp and a few glowrods. The Force could assist, but without knowing what awaited below, it was hard to be certain he could complete his mission. It would be a wasted trip if he had to go back to town. At least now he had the coordinates in his navcomp; he’d be able to find it again, but Ari’s warning about broken-down speeders was a good one. If he got lost out here with no comm signal or a dead navi, he’d be in for a very unpleasant trip back.

“Aren’t you going in?”

The woman at his back sounded like she was teasing, but Luke couldn’t be sure. He gestured to the gaping mouth of the cave with an undercurrent of frustration.

“It’s a cave. I didn’t think the ruins would be caves.”

“Isn’t that normal?” Ari looked truly surprised, a quizzical twist to her mouth. “Legend had it that the Jedi Temple on Lothal was mostly underground. I thought that was how your people did things.”

Well, that explained why she hadn’t thought to mention it, Luke had to admit. And Ari had a point. Some temples did have complex and vast subterranean levels, but he’d never heard of an entirely underground chapter house. Foolish, to not have been prepared, but Ansion wasn’t known for caves or mountains—grasslands, prairies, and open fields were its hallmarks.

“I didn’t expect it,” he admitted, staring back down into the black opening in the earth. “I’m not exactly ready for cave diving.”

“Luke,” she said, her tone the opposite from when she’d mocked him earlier for christening the suubatar. He turned to face her, seeing a light in her large blue eyes, the lines edging them crinkling.

“Yes?”

She shook a battered daypack at him, and only then did Luke notice she was holding it. He took it, afraid to hope. It held everything he would have thought to bring himself, and much he wouldn’t have. Handlines, extra rope, carabineers, hooks, helmets and headlamps, glowrods, a medkit, elbow and knee pads, a canteen, heating and cooling packs, gloves, even an extra pair of socks. There was more, but he’d seen enough to know he could carry out his searching and scavenging without problems.

“This is amazing.”

“I like caving.”

“And camping,” Luke added in wonder. Who would have thought that the Governor of Lothal had this among her hobbies?

“I grew up caving—I told you last night about my family’s mine. It was a normal thing—fun exploration on an afternoon or weekend.” She bit her lip, perhaps regretting volunteering the information. “So anyway, I guess the gear helps?”

“It helps a lot! Thank you so much, Ari!”

She grimaced at his enthusiasm, and, feeling a bit mischievous, Luke gave her an impromptu hug—a quick squeeze of gratitude. Releasing her before she could object, he squatted on the ground, digging through the pack in earnest.

“You wanna come with me?”

He felt her surprise in the Force, and also a thread of excitement. The bag was weathered, but when was the last time she’d actually used it? Arihnda Pryce wasn’t dodderingly old, but simple math suggested she must be close to sixty. Maybe she felt her caving days were behind her.

“All right.” 

Luke beamed up at her as he looped the lines and ropes around his chest. “Great. I could use some help from an expert.”

With a sigh that he thought was more for dramatic effect than out of any real irritation, she tugged on the rope looping his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. “We’ll start with how to carry the gear, then.”

~~

Ari _was_ an expert, Luke was pleasantly surprised to learn, although not exactly a patient instructor. That was all right—he was used to annoying his teachers. All too often she just did things like anchoring lines instead of showing him how, and if he asked too many questions she muttered Lothalian curses under her breath. When he’d asked her to teach him those too, he really thought she wanted to send him plunging to his death.

Thankfully, as his Force-assisted scouting had predicted, the chapter house wasn’t particularly large or extensive. The Jedi had carved out what was required for their purposes—which meant a few dormitory chambers, a common area, a cooking and dining room, several small classrooms or meditation rooms—Luke wasn’t sure which—and a library.

The library—which was logically and typically the most promising area in his research—had clearly been looted. There wasn’t much left except moldy and broken datacards, which Luke scooped up regardless, and some torn flimsy pages that were slowly disintegrating thanks to time and the elements. He collected those too, carefully placing them in hyperbaric pouches. Back at the Academy, he could have Tionne clean and analyze them for any useful information.

Ari watched without comment, poking around by herself. Luke had asked her to let him know if she found anything, and she had already discovered a broken piece of blue kyber. Luke accepted it, feeling a chill as he slipped it into his bag. The crystal’s history was not a happy one.

The library was the last room they searched, and Luke took his time, pleased that his fellow caver made no complaint. Despite multiple scans with material-detectors and the Force, after two hours Luke decided there was nothing else to be found. Realizing he hadn’t seen Ari in a while, Luke looked for the steady light of her red glowrod in the cave’s darkness. But it was no longer moving along the walls or empty shelves.

“Ari!” he called, extending his senses with the Force. “Ari!” Luke ran, unsure of his direction, and almost immediately tripped on a stone. Taking a deep breath, he pushed deeper into the room, still calling her name.

“Luke!” It was muffled, but he heard her. A hidden passage. Not at all unusual, but strange he hadn’t come across it while searching with the Force. He’d employed all the usual methods to scan the premises.

“I’m here. I’ll get you out, just hang on.”

“Hurry up!” she hollered, and then apparently thought better of the tone, calling quickly “Thank you!”

Unperturbed despite the adrenaline rush he’d felt at her disappearance, Luke wasted no time in manipulating the secret portal’s mechanism to release. He bent down and offered a hand, pulling Ari into the antechamber.

“Everything all right? You weren’t hurt?”

“No…but…”

Luke raised an eyebrow, waiting, the glowrod’s scarlet illumination on her face turning it bloody in his imagination.

“…but I don’t remember going in there. How I got in there.”

That was concerning…a trance, perhaps, or some ancient bind to prevent thieves. Luke nodded in understanding. “That’s probably an old security measure. I’ll go check and see what’s in there.”

“Nothing.” The sheen of panic that had glazed her voice before now dulled. “There’s nothing in there. Just…bones.”

Bones. Perhaps another explorer, trapped in the same fashion, without the Force to assist their escape.

“I have to check everywhere,” Luke replied gently. “Don’t worry, I won’t get trapped.”

“I’m not worried about you,” she snapped. “Fine. Knock yourself out.”

“I hope not,” he tried to joke, but it fell flat. Crouching into the small entryway, Luke squat-walked through a narrow stone opening to a wider chamber. Wider was a generous word—there was barely enough room to stand, and four humans elbow to elbow would entirely fill the space.

But yes, there were bones. A pile of bones. Apologizing for the disturbance to the dead, Luke sifted through them, knowing there was something to find with the certainty of the Force.

“Ari!” he called, just to assure her he was still there, and assure himself of the same.

“Hurry!” she yelled back. “It’s getting late.”

“Just a few minutes,” he answered, returning his attention to the grisly task at hand. He hadn’t come this far to overlook anything that could help him with the New Jedi Order.

Two of the skeletons, not human, had signs of violence on their rib cages. A battle in this tiny space. Luke shuddered—he wasn’t immune to the tragedies of the past—but continued searching until he found it. He wasn’t even sure, at first, what “it” was…a scrap of folded flimsy, faded and bloodstained, between two metacarpals.

Ari’s growing annoyance was harder to ignore, and with a final Force-assisted sweep of the space, Luke pocketed the scrap and made his way back to the library.

~~

They had a real dinner—Luke had insisted. He’d brought some leftover Tarasin stew a local villager had offered the other night, and it was an easy enough task to heat it. They shared a spoon, and Luke was happy for the break from ration bars. He ate too many of those as it was.

As the campfire flames died down and night beckoned, Luke crossed his legs and tried to figure out how to proceed. 

“So what’s the plan?”

He smiled. “Jedi mind trick, Ari? I was just wondering that myself.”

She didn’t smile back. “You talked to him. You know what he wants.”

Her voice broke on the last word, and Luke automatically sent a calm wave of energy in her direction.

“I’m sorry,” Luke said, upset at his assumption. Inadvertent use of the Force was something that should have been long behind him. This slip was unfortunate proof that recent events had unbalanced him.

“Sorry for what?” she sounded curious, not angry. His careless power had already done its work.

“I … I used the Force just now. And it affected you, and that wasn’t right.”

“I didn’t feel anything.”

“That doesn’t make it right. I’m sorry.”

Ari waved a hand, dismissing his apology. “The plan?”

Surprised she wasn’t more upset, given her distaste for the Jedi, Luke took a moment to organize his thoughts. Using the same calming energy on himself first, he resolved to be honest, and fair. Most importantly, he had to be a Jedi, and sometimes, even after all these years, he wasn’t sure exactly what that meant.

“Thrawn is here because you’re lonely.” Ari sucked in a breath but Luke went on, not wanting to offer space for pointless denials. “Whatever reason he held on at first—likely something as simple as a final farewell—his spirit decided he had a duty to stay. His …” Luke searched for the right word, finding the one she had used a few times, “…grief is tied to this. If he was sure you would be all right, if you…if _we_ ,” he amended, “could show that was not the case, he could move on…”

“Does he _want_ to move on?”

It was a good question, and not one he had really thought about. Given the ‘conversation’ he’d had with Thrawn the night before, Luke assumed that his spirit understood something needed to change, but it was true that Luke hadn’t been explicit about the toll the haunting was taking on Ari.

“He wants you to be happy. To be cared for, I think.”

Ari’s eyes narrowed. “I can take care of myself.”

Sighing at his verbal misstep, Luke pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to get through to her. “Yes, I’m sure he knows that. Caring for someone doesn’t always mean _taking_ care of them, you know?” He glanced to the fire, sensing Ari’s resistance to his correction. The ribboning smoke flavored the air with a nutty, crisp scent, filling his nose as he continued. “Anyway, when Thrawn died, he wasn’t convinced. So let’s convince him now. Show him you can take care of yourself, that you’re ready to move on and live your life.”

“And…what if I don’t want him to leave?” She saw the look of disbelief on his face, and hurried to continue. “I mean, I didn’t know what I was feeling, what the darkness was…and now I do, and it’s not as bad, now that I know.”

She didn’t sound certain. They had already settled this, determined what was best… Or so he had thought. Luke let silence convey his opinion for a moment, turning to his pack and pulling out some candied blumfruit. He held out the bag and Ari wordlessly took a few pieces.

“Ari. You can’t sleep. Just…knowing it’s Thrawn won’t change that fact.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Is that fair to him?”

The look that she turned on him was pure disdain. “Don’t pretend you care about us, Luke. You’re doing your duty, like a brainwashed slave or some sort of servant droid. You say you have a choice because that’s what that cult has drummed into your head.” Her voice turned even colder, her eyes chilling to match. “We both know I’ll always be the Imperial Governor of Lothal, Jedi killer, and Thrawn will always be the Grand Admiral that caught your sister’s incompetent government with its pants down and humiliated you all. If he hadn’t been murdered—”

Luke didn’t interrupt her vitriol, letting it flow over and past him. It was actually good for her to vent, letting out her frustrations. There was the possibility that within there would be a clue, some hint as to how to convince her to change her ways or view. Thrawn was suffering, that was obvious, and she knew it too, even if her affection for him was blinding her to reality. From the little he had seen, Luke guessed Ari was too intelligent to talk herself out of the truth. He had faith in her to do the right thing, even if she didn’t reciprocate.

But she didn’t finish, leaving the amputated sentence without its hypothetical conclusion. Still Luke didn’t speak. 

“Say something,” she fumed, crossing her arms.

“I won’t lie to you,” Luke answered, “just to confirm your misconceptions. Your past is your past, and your present is here, right now. The future is what we make it.”

“We? You said _my_ past and _my_ present, so why are _you_ involved in the future?”

“Because we’re in this together now. The future can be better, different than the past.”

“I don’t want you in my future, Luke.”

His lips curled slightly. “That’s not quite what I meant.”

“Maybe I don’t want a future at all.”

That alarmed him, and he didn’t try to hide it. “Ari, don’t say that. Please. Thrawn wants your happiness, not your death, I already told you. I’m certain.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Don’t believe me. Trust yourself. Search your feelings to find the truth. You just don’t want to lose him again.”

“I hate you,” Ari growled. “You come from nowhere and think you understand everything about me.”

“I don’t,” Luke countered needlessly. “I don’t have to.” He offered her another handful of candy, which she took, her hand fisting around the dried blumfruit like she could crush it into extinction.

“You don’t care that I hate you, do you?”

Shaking his head, Luke finished chewing the last bits in the bag before answering. “I do. This would be easier if you didn’t.” He wasn’t going to contradict her. He didn’t think she _really_ hated him, but arguing wouldn’t improve the situation.

“My father was Darth Vader.”

Ari choked on the blumfruit in her mouth. Luke passed over his half-empty water bulb, which she drained in one go.

“I’m not sure I understood you.”

“My father was Darth Vader,” Luke said again, a faint smile on his lips. “It’s not common knowledge. My sister and I decided there was more to lose than gain in sharing that information, so only a few people know.”

“And you’re telling me so…” she raised an eyebrow “…I can blackmail you?”

Luke laughed at that, a long deep laugh that loosened his bones and cut through the tension. 

“Am I supposed to say ‘once an Imperial always an Imperial?’ now?” he asked through fading chuckles. “No, I’m not telling you so you can blackmail me, Ari. I’m telling you so you understand I don’t hate you. I don’t hate Thrawn. I’m not condoning things you did, just like I didn’t have to approve of my father’s actions to love him.”

“You don’t love me.”

“Thrawn loves you. I felt that love. It was as strong as any devotion I’ve encountered.”

For a moment, just a moment, Luke felt the anguish of their loss as keenly as he’d ever felt anything. Heartache formed a knot in his throat, making it difficult to speak. He didn’t try to hide it.

“My father loved me too… You’re not defined by what you did before, and I’m not here to judge you. That’s not my role, that’s not who I am. We can accept the past without it determining the future. I truly _want_ to help you.” Luke blinked back the water from his eyes, swallowing hard. “Trust me.”

The suubatar shuffled in the grass, the only sound besides the light scrape of leaves above their heads and the capricious popping of embers. Ari shifted, looking over her shoulder to check on the mounts, then relaxed her arms, sitting up a little straighter.

“I used to trust people. It got me nowhere.” Her eyes flashed in the fading flames of the campfire. “Then I met Thrawn.” Turning her chin up slightly, as if in defiance, she met Luke’s eyes. “I thought I could trust someone again.”

“Were you wrong?”

She rolled her lips between her teeth. The words, when she spoke, seemed dragged from her throat. Luke appreciated the effort for what it was. “After Creekpath…I thought he wouldn’t trust me anymore. But he appreciated what I could do, how I operated, and what I could give him.” Luke didn’t know the incident she was referring to, and made a mental note to investigate later rather than disturb her confession. “But things got better.” A small smile. “Then, after the fuel depot…” Her expression darkened, eyes narrowing, but she kept talking. “…after that, I thought it was the end. He…threatened me. And I believed he would…”

“…hurt you?” Luke finished when she didn’t, trying to imagine how someone who felt such affection for her could also wish to harm her. It wasn’t a brand of love he could ever understand.

She nodded. Luke didn’t expect more, trying to go over the information for some clue how to proceed. But she continued. 

“He was on his way back…to…“deal with me.”” Luke heard the quotes and felt a coldness in his chest. “…When the Rebels got the upper hand.” She shrugged, meeting his eyes. “You said you read the reports, you know what happened.”

Luke wasn’t going to make her relive the liberation of Lothal, although he was curious as to how her tale may differ from official reports, so he nodded. “Yes.” He paused, an idea taking form. “So that’s why you expected a threat? You thought, once you knew it was Thrawn, that he still wanted to “deal with you”?”

“I don’t know,” she grumbled. “You’re the one who talked to him.”

“Ari,” Luke reached across the distance between them, resting a hand briefly on her knee. “Revenge, punishment, anything like that is completely absent in his spirit. It’s concern for you, devotion to you, that’s all.” The pieces were falling into place, even as he spoke. “And I think that’s the answer. What’s unfinished.”

She was confused, but Luke no longer was, the revelation taking focus, its edges now sharp and defined. “The last thing he ever said to you was a threat.” Ari’s eyes narrowed, perhaps ready to argue some reflexive contradiction, but she didn’t see, not yet. “He regrets that, Ari, that’s why he couldn’t leave, why he came to you in the first place.”

“Guilt?”

“Regret. That’s what he’s been carrying around. And then he found some of that energy reflected in you, and so he stayed, thinking he could make it better.”

“Thrawn rarely overestimated his capabilities,” she said, fondness coloring the words.

“But he did this time,” Luke pointed out. “He didn’t have a strategy, didn’t know what his capabilities even _were_. So he stayed.”

“Planning?”

“I suppose,” Luke said. “It seems that waiting was the plan. Waiting for you to feel him, or forgive, or forget him.”

“And I did none of those things,” she whispered. The fire had almost succumbed, its final embers glowing as ashes floated into the night. “None of them.”

“But now you can, Ari. You can help him move on.”

She scoffed, the practiced sound like an emotional shield. “Your Force accepts Imperial souls?”

Luke imitated her scoff. “Would Imperials prefer politics in the afterlife?”

Laughing, she let out a groan and lay back on the grass, looking up at the stars. “Point taken, Luke. Point taken.” Stretching her arms overhead, she sighed deeply. “All right. I want him to find peace, and he’s not at peace as my depressed guardian angel or whatever. So what do we do?”

The relief Luke felt at her renewed acceptance was tangible, a lightness in his chest, the burden of argument vanished. Thankful the debate portion of the task was over and gratified at her use of “we”, Luke was ready with an answer.

“We do what he came to do…get you two to communicate.”


	6. Chapter 6

“And how in the seven hells are we going to communicate, if he’s been unable to talk to me for three years?”

It was a good question, and one Luke hadn’t had an answer to…until that afternoon. He pulled out the folded scrap of flimsy he’d discovered, carefully opening the quadrants.

“This was in the saferoom where you got trapped.”

“Saferoom?” Ari looked incredulous. “People died in there. Not very safe.”

“Poor choice of words,” Luke admitted, “but that’s what it was meant to be. For a Jedi.” He handed her the scrap, which she accepted gingerly, as if it would bite her. “Anyway, this is an excerpt from some sort of journal. A diary of a medium. A Jedi medium.”

“You’re joking.” She started to scan the paper, squinting to read the faded text.

Luke shook his head. “It’s only a fragment, but it includes a process for metaphysical conduction.” 

Ari blinked at him, shaking her head as if to clear it. The flimsy in her hand trembled slightly. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“This Jedi claimed they discovered a safe way to serve as a conduit for transient spirits—souls that had become stuck as ghosts rather than rejoining the Force.”

“How?” she asked, staring down at the paper. “This doesn’t make sense.” Ari read aloud: _“Empty the vessel and transcend into provisional oneness, creating corporeal vacancy in the Force."_ Her eyes lifted to meet his, their blue shining black in the night. "Absolute nonsense. It reads like some spiced-up guru’s manifesto.”

Luke laughed, not at her lack of comprehension, but as a welcome release of the tension he was feeling himself. After their caving adventure, Luke had cleaned up and settled in his tent to read the flimsy he'd pocketed. Instead of a quick scan before preserving it in a pouch like the others, he'd been stunned and admittedly frightened by its contents. This was no coincidence. And what the Force seemed to be asking was beyond what he had been prepared to consider. Yet it seemed for once Ari was right—Luke didn’t really have a choice, not now. If he were to be truly a Jedi, and submit to the will of the Force, it meant he had to selflessly help her. This newfound knowledge was an option—a solution—he couldn’t ignore.

“I know. But read it again. The whole thing.”

He was quiet, savoring the aftertaste of the blumfruit’s sweetness on his tongue, as the woman before him did as he asked. Thankful that she wasn’t being as intractable or unreasonable as anticipated, Luke took the moment to empty his thoughts, quiet his own fears. He was certain this would work.

Ari refolded the flimsy and passed it back to him. “If I ignore the sheer insanity of the entire thing, I believe it’s explaining in some vague, useless way how to get possessed by a ghost. That sum it up?”

The word—possession—was one Luke had been trying not to think about. Exar Kun and others, after death, had the power to take over susceptible Jedi, and refused to release them. Luke had no guarantees that Thrawn wouldn’t resist departing, once—and if—he was successfully in “possession” of Luke’s body. But there was no question in his mind that this would work, that this was what was required of him, and this was the “something” that the Force had kept him on Ansion to do.

“Yeah, that sums it up.” Luke looked down at the scrap between his fingers, trying not to imagine the consequences if he was making a mistake. 

“You would do that?” She sounded beyond disbelief, closer to hysteria. “You would let a mortal enemy take over your body to…have a conversation with me?”

Luke sighed, wondering how long she would dwell on this. “First of all, Ari, Thrawn is no longer ‘mortal,’ he’s a spirit, and second, he’s no longer my enemy either. He’s dead, a ghost.” Luke saw her flinch and plowed forward regardless. “Thrawn’s stuck here until he finds peace. I told you I wanted to help.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “This should help.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

He knew as soon as he allowed some uncertainty into his vocabulary that she would jump on it. But the fact was, Luke didn’t _know_. He hoped, he believed, but there was no way to know unless they tried. Unless they _did it_ , he mentally corrected, old habits deeply ingrained having struck the previous verb from his lexicon.

“So…” Ari's jaw tightened, her neck tense. “So you…go away for a while and Thrawn comes to visit?”

A slight smile. “Not a bad description.”

“Where do you go?”

Luke tapped the flimsy. “Into the Force. I become a spirit, I suppose, for a little while. Provisionally, it says. Temporary.”

“What if you can’t come back?”

Luke looked up at the night sky, feeling a powerful sense of calm descend. The stars were beautiful, the galaxy laid out like the scattered debris of crushed kybers glittering above. “Then I can’t,” he replied. “If it is the will of the Force.” Lowering his head, Luke met the disbelieving eyes of the woman opposite with a steady, serious gaze. “I’m not afraid to die, Ari. I know what it means. I know what comes after, to a certain extent. I’m not saying I’m ready to go—I’d rather not—but this is the way of things.”

“You’re strange, you Jedi.”

He smiled. “We are, I suppose.”

“I don’t believe this—any of this—is even possible.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Luke shrugged. “If it works, you will.” His smile grew toothier. “I doubt I could impersonate Grand Admiral Thrawn with any success,” he grinned. “Pretty sure you’d be able to tell.”

She smiled back, but it was sad, her eyes hooded. “Will you be able to, you know, watch? Witness?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do I even say to him?!”

“Tell the truth, and hear him out. That’s all you can do.”

“I’m scared.”

The confession surprised Luke, although the sentiment did not. He had a feeling Ari wasn’t comfortable revealing any sort of vulnerability. It tied into her distrust of everything and everyone. In the shadows, the suubatar lowed softly, and Luke took a deep breath.

“It will be all right. He…you both need this.”

“Closure.” She said the word like it was a synonym for nerfshite.

“Not an end. A new beginning.”

She looked at him, then held out a hand. Luke took it.

“I think you’re as crazy as a Kowakian, but I’m in.” She dropped a wink. “Even though you’re still not my type.”

Luke had been trying not to think about that particular aspect of sharing his body with her former lover, but supposed it had to be addressed. “That’s probably for the best,” he tried to keep his voice light. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

Ari squeezed his fingers once and let go. “Don’t worry, Luke. If this works…I’ll be grateful.” She stood up and stretched, looking up to the heavens as he had a moment ago. “And Thrawn…has honor.” Turning away, she began cleaning up the campsite.

Luke supposed she was trying to reassure him, and he appreciated it, even if he wasn’t sure he agreed with her assessment. But he had to be prepared for any outcome, and thought he was. They spent a few minutes getting ready. Luke rinsed the dinner pot at the river, saying good night to the suubatar with soft words and gentle pats and scratches.

Taking a few minutes to himself, by the light of his datapad Luke reread the crowded page of flimsy for the umpteenth time. It wasn’t exactly a step-by-step manual, but it contained the conviction of its author, which he found fortifying.

The very bottom of the slip had information about meta-corporeal exorcism, which Luke hadn’t pointed out and Ari hadn’t commented upon. Still, it was heartening to have that data—to know the medium wasn’t completely without offensive capabilities if confronted by a hostile spirit. It contained two other warnings: the first, the prediction that once a Jedi had successfully opened himself up to one ghost, others may come—one must be prepared for an endless parade of the dead seeking temporary incarnation; the second, that some spiritual residue might imprint upon the host during the transfer, causing temporary or permanent absorption of any of the spirit’s characteristics, personality, or idiosyncrasies. They were all possibilities that Luke appreciated, but seriously hoped wouldn’t be the case.

The night was warm, and Luke inhaled the fresh air of the prairie with real pleasure. He was as ready as he would ever be, he supposed, and stepped outside his tent. Ari was already inside hers. Trying to decide if a more confined space was better or worse, Luke settled on the latter.

“Ari!” he called. “Can we do this out here?” He took a seat near the smoking embers of the campfire. “It’s a nice night.”

Instead of replying, she emerged a few minutes later, carrying her bedroll. Without a word, she spread it out and sat down once more. Luke was touched to see she’d combed her hair, changed into fresh clothes. However skeptical she appeared, Ari wanted to believe in the Force, in its power and aid. Luke vowed not to fail her.

“Should I sleep out here?”

“If you think you can, yes. I’ll meditate and wait for him.”

Ari bit her lip, that resolution that Luke already admired plain in her face. She lay atop the bedroll and shifted to one side, facing the river. Luke closed his eyes, emptying his thoughts. The Jedi Code, as always, strengthening and centering.

He didn’t have to wait long. What seemed like minutes later, that already familiar cloud of negativity bloomed into being. Luke felt it— _him_ —immediately, the pressure in the Force like a physical thing. He wasted no time, extending that line of communication, waiting for Thrawn to find it, grasp it. The gloom was laced with hope, something brighter than before, and as Luke tried to convey his plan, the weight lessened, lifted. For a moment, he thought Thrawn had left, almost relieved at the idea that perhaps the ghost had departed for good, but no, that spark of awareness—of intelligence—quickly returned. This time urgency and anticipation—yes, definitely excitement—colored the spirit’s essence.

_We can proceed, when you’re ready._

Luke waited, expecting another burst of energy, impatience even, but what he received instead was undoubtedly interrogative. He didn’t understand the question, struggling to ‘read’ sentiments that emerged only half-formed, restricted by the ghost’s limitations.

Focusing on his respiration, Luke waited for clarity, some additional information, but the inquisitive impression only got stronger. If Thrawn was anything like Ari, perhaps he shared that one question she couldn’t let go of…

_I want to help. You are no longer my enemy._

At least Luke hoped that was the case, his hands fisting at his knees. He’d apparently guessed correctly, the sense of query departing. With another deep breath, Luke reached out with the Force, hoping he was ready. Hoping he hadn’t made a mistake in trusting either of them. The thought was banished as soon as it appeared. Regardless of what Thrawn or Ari intended, Luke trusted in the Force. 

With that firmly in mind, he looked inside himself for the light of his own essence, bound to his body, filling his physical being. Concentrating, relying on instinct to operate and proceed rather than logic or technique, Luke witnessed as that essence—his own spirit—pulsed, alive and brilliant. He pushed at it, a preternatural shove, feeling movement…lightness. It was working. 

His body was emptied like a wave retreating into the ocean as his Force presence diffused, absorbed into the abundance of energy surrounding him. It didn’t hurt—it was the opposite of pain, a freeing, liberating joy. Almost too quickly it felt like he was dispersing, becoming something vast and infinite, and Luke battled to reassemble that energy that made him Luke, keep it in one place, without losing any of his soul to the lifestream that flowed everywhere, in all directions. Currents of light, of darkness, of every imaginable color and some he’d _never_ imagined, made up his new reality. It was difficult to breathe, and abruptly Luke realized he _wasn’t_ breathing. He had transcended himself; he was outside of his body. But how to see without eyes?

Somehow, there was nothing alarming about any of this. Yoda had been right…he was luminous. Everything was. Luke felt a peace he’d never dreamed, a welcoming caress from the galaxy. He marvelled how Thrawn had the fortitude to resist its lure for so long. Everything anyone could ever need was here, he knew it, felt it as surely as he’d ever felt anything. It would be so easy to surrender to it. Already he heard the call of his family, those who had gone before. To seek them out, to stay in this place and dwell in the shimmering light of the universe, seemed like the ultimate reward. 

Luke drifted. He listened to the heartbeat of an endless universe. Rapture and love shone everywhere with the invisible glory of a million suns. There was no way to explain it, but it was everything, and Luke was already a part of it, beginning to be absorbed by it, thriving in it.

The Jedi medium hadn’t warned him of this…this desire to stay, or rather, to _go_ , to leave behind the suffering and struggle of carnal existence. 

With more effort than he’d ever expended, Luke called his spirit to himself, trying to remember his purpose. There was a reason he was here, a meaning behind this incorporeality.

Like a slow moving tide, memory returned, reluctant and hazy. Thrawn. Ari. Their dilemma. Luke had no idea how long he’d been away, if Thrawn had succeeded in possessing his body. It could have been years or minutes. Time wasn’t just fluid here, it was nonexistent. Turning his focus inward, Luke searched for them.

And found them. Amazingly. He couldn’t see them exactly, but still…he knew. He knew they had talked. Knew he’d been gone long enough. Knew his task here was complete. Gently, almost reluctantly, he reached out, employing the same method as when their roles were reversed, and extended himself as a conduit to Thrawn.

Without realizing it, Luke had braced himself for something—rejection, resistance, anger. Instead, there was welcome, and release. _How do I return?_ Luke wondered. He couldn’t sense his own body, couldn’t be sure of anything except Thrawn inhabited it…and was ready to depart. The thread connecting them seemed to weave into something thicker, a webbing that started to solidify. Luke began to fight it, the impression of being trapped, encased in warmth and liquid too sudden. But the distinct clamp of cold, rough hands—too strong to be supernatural—jerked him violently, like being tossed into a detention cell. Luke felt propelled from the inside out, tumbling without control or destination.

And opened his eyes. 

He had eyes again. Lying face-down on the ground. The smell of dirt in his nostrils, the warm breeze ruffling his hair.

Exhaustion was the predominant emotion, with sadness close behind. It had been too soon to stay, he knew that deep down, but selfishly, stupidly, Luke felt evicted from paradise. His body was impossibly heavy, a clumsy mess of organs. He was conscious of the blood in his veins, the air in his lungs in a way he’d never before experienced.

“Luke.” It was Ari’s voice. “Luke, are you there?” A hand rested on his back, fingers light and tentative. Sucking in a breath, it took all his strength to prop himself up. Ari was there, her arms helping him sit, holding him. “Say something,” she said. “Please.”

“It’s me. I’m back,” he managed, then collapsed back down, face up to the sky.

“Good.” Ari didn’t move for a moment, then settled along his side, putting a hand over his heart as if to make sure it was beating. “That’s good.”

~~

The sun was already several inches off the horizon when Luke next opened his eyes. He sat up, feeling like for the first time he understood what the term “bones creaking” meant. Wondering how long his body would feel so heavy and foreign, he stifled a yawn. A water bulb was at his side and Luke popped it open with his thumb, draining it so quickly he coughed.

With methodical effort, Luke got to his feet, stretching in every direction, and saw Ari. 

The short woman was by the river, seeing to the suubatar, clearly packed and ready to go. His own tent, Luke realized, had also been struck, and no doubt stowed in Cammie’s saddlebag while he slept. 

Catching his eye, Ari tossed him a wave. Something twinged inside him, an immediate sense of concern. Luke wasn’t quite sure where it came from. He returned a little salute, then scanned the area without knowing why, confused at his own reaction, before walking over.

Ari looked like a different person this morning. The shadow that had shaded her movements was gone—she seemed content, unhurried. There was a sense of ease that Luke thought was entirely new surrounding her. But at his arrival, her brows drew together, worried wrinkles appearing around her eyes.

“I look that good, huh?”

“I can’t imagine what you went through, while—”

“It wasn’t bad at all, Ari. But sort of hard to explain.” She said nothing, her gaze still examining him as if searching for injuries or flaws. “…Did it work?”

“It worked.” Her expression changed, smoothed, and lips twisted. “But let’s get started back.” She swung up gracefully into the viann, somehow even her previous stiffness seemed lessened. “You deserve to know what happened. But later, all right?”

“All right,” Luke agreed, climbing on top of his suubatar with a good morning scritch along Cammie’s neckspines.

~~

They rode through the day. The suubatar were particularly energetic, and, after checking with Luke, Ari gave them free rein to gallop as long as they wished. After over an hour, Luke was certain they would tire, but Cammie and Sammie seemed to have an endless store of energy—other than some playful romping, they ran at full-speed until Luke thought he’d get saddle burn. Perhaps pitying him, Ari made them slow after what felt like several hours, but could have been less. Luke’s hands were raw from clenching the pommel, and his legs were on fire.

“We could stop here, if you want,” she indicated an unsheltered indentation in the hills off in the distance with her chin, “or keep going.”

“You think we’ll make it back tonight if we don’t stop?” Luke was surprised at the implication, since his late start had robbed them of several hours this morning.

“Not tonight, but we’ll only have a short ride tomorrow if we push a little more.”

“Let’s keep going then.” Luke pat his suubatar’s neck affectionately. “As long as they can keep it up.”

“I was worried about _you_ keeping up,” she laughed, “not them. They’re having a blast.” Without asking again, she hollered “ _Elup_!” and Sammie reared up and tore across the valley. After taking a moment to relish the sound of Ari’s laugh—free of all bitterness, derision, and worry—Luke sent Cammie barreling after her.


	7. Chapter 7

The sun was already halfway down when Ari led them to the banks of a small reservoir. She dismounted with a graceful slide. Luke thought he managed a good imitation of her method this time, although his muscles still felt shredded from the bones, and he was far too conscious of the fleshy composition of his body. That would likely fade with time, but he’d already decided to avoid meditation for a week or so. It would be too tempting to drift once again into that boundless, glittering flow, and leave all this behind. A selfish choice, and one Luke practically and psychologically had no trouble rejecting, no matter how much his spiritual self may have disagreed.

After setting up camp, Luke sat with a mug of hot chocolate and a ration bar alongside the small fire. He expected Ari to take up her usual position opposite, but instead she came and sat next to him. Her smile was weak, uncomfortable, before she turned her gaze to the fire. Stretching out her legs (Luke had figured out that based upon her past injuries, cross-legged was beyond her joints’ capabilities) Ari spoke quietly, avoiding his eyes.

“You’re a remarkable person, Luke." She rolled her shoulders a few times, settling back on her palms. “Thrawn thinks so too. You’re... It’s not just this Jedi, Force thing...and what you did for us...” Her chin tilted as she looked at the scattered clouds floating like bloated islands overhead, exposing the old scars crisscrossing her throat. “But leaving your questions unasked all day, that’s practically superhuman.”

He chuckled, surprised at how the compliments warmed him, and pleased for the shift in her demeanor, her attitude towards him. The hot chocolate he’d prepared was cooling, and he handed her the other mug. Ari nodded her thanks, taking a sip. 

“Did you see any of it? Anything? Hear us at all?”

Luke gave a brief shake of his head. “No. Does that put your mind at ease?”

She leaned deliberately into his arm, just a momentary press of acknowledgment. There was a twinge, a pang of …something in his chest at the contact.

“I wanted to put _your_ mind at ease, actually.” Finally meeting his eyes, Ari shifted, straightening. Her jaw locked as if preparing for something unpleasant. “You’ve done so much…and we...we tried not to—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “You don’t have to explain.”

She let out a thin, brittle laugh. Nervous, perhaps. “Well then, I’ll answer whatever you ask. We owe you that.” Taking a long drink, she sighed, waiting. 

The "we" she was using was noted. With some satisfaction, Luke could enjoy the fact that they'd succeeded in the reunion, whatever else had occurred. Running a hand through his wind-tangled hair, he tried to organize his thoughts. Most of his questions were inchoate, imprecise—everything from the logistics of how the transfer had happened from her perspective, to the way she’d known it had worked. And of course, there were more intrusive, personal questions, frantically lobbying his brain in favor of remaining unspoken. The result: Luke didn't _know_ what to ask. 

Silence seeped into the small clearing like an oily film, slick and unavoidable. Both finished their drink at the same time, setting empty cups in accidental unison near the fire. 

With a quick glance at him, Ari squared her shoulders and spoke unprompted. “It really was Thrawn.” She cursed softly. “I wasn’t sure I could be convinced of that. I was expecting some _imposter_ or something, I think.” A shrug. “After all, I’m supposed to be dead too…” Her voice hitched slightly; Ari took a second to steady herself. “I guess part of me hoped…”

That hadn’t occurred to Luke, and his heart went out to her. Of course—why not imagine that her lover had survived his reported demise, as she had? It made sense, in an understandable, if delusional way. While he was searching for some way to respond, she continued.

“He came for simple reasons—much as you predicted. Stayed for more complicated ones. And…” Ari inhaled, a shaky breath. “He told me he was leaving. He’s gone.”

“I can’t imagine how difficult that is for you,” Luke said, “but I’m glad.”

“Don’t say it’s for the best.” Her voice was cautious, no longer open or wistful. All the morning's ease had been leached out of it.

“I won’t,” Luke promised. “I do want you to know that…what I experienced…It’s wonderful. A good place. You’ll miss him, I know. But there’s no reason to mourn.”

Ari’s lips thinned as if she wanted to argue, and was trying extremely hard to keep her objections to herself. Instead she tossed her head with all the arrogance of a Dathomirian horse, and met his eyes, unblinking.

“So? Questions?”

He _was_ curious, but already at peace with whatever had happened. Luke believed Ari’s assertion that Thrawn was now freed from his self-imposed obligation to stay at her side, and didn’t really need more. But he could tell she wouldn’t be happy if he didn’t have at minimum _something_ to ask, since she'd offered answers. 

“Tell me your plans. What’s next for Ari?” Luke saw the smallest shadow darken her eyes and wondered at it. “Or Rinda,” he amended. “What are you going to do now?”

“That’s none of your business,” she scowled. “That isn’t a question about...about what happened.”

It was difficult, but Luke resisted the urge to push back. If last night’s events affected her future, of course the question was related. 

He wasn’t trying to pick a fight, even if confrontation was what Ari was expecting. Inviting, even. And likely attributed to guilt—the negativity she was exuding supported that theory, though Luke still hoped to avoid the root of it. It was past, it couldn’t be changed, and she needed to let it go.

The important thing, from his point of view, was that she had gotten what she needed to move on, and Thrawn as well. And the truth was, Luke didn’t really want to know what exactly that entailed. Sure, it may have been something as innocuous as a profession of love from beyond the grave. Even so, Luke felt certain it would do nothing more than embarrass both of them to go into details. Yet clearly Ari expected something from him, some level of prying that she felt was justified.

“Why not just tell me what you want to share?”

A knot of frustration grew in his chest as Ari responded to his diplomatic query with a dramatic groan. Rather than appreciate his sensitivity to her privacy, his refusal to ask an explicit question was annoying her. Guessing the reason for her insistence, Luke wrinkled his brow in irritation. So much for blissful ignorance.

Ari had something on her conscience, and wanted him to pull the reason out of her, rather than simply volunteer information. 

It meant something physical had happened. 

Luke had already accepted that possibility before proposing the Jedi medium’s solution. It was an obvious risk. And well before waking up this morning, achy and exhausted, he had resolved not to ask. While ideally the offer of “using” his body would have been limited to eyes and voice, even if Luke had attempted to impose such a rule, it had seemed petty and, more importantly, unenforceable. He had—quite literally—blindly trusted in former enemies, reckless and optimistic as that may have been. He had to live with the decision. In the end, he was still in one piece, so it couldn’t have been too bad.

“Fine,” Luke sighed, resigning himself to getting sucked into Ari’s childish method of guilt alleviation. “What did he do to me?” Her head jerked up, and she swallowed a shallow gulp of air. “Or…” Luke still felt this was counterproductive at best, cruel at the worst, but if she needed to confess…

"...what did _you_ do to me?”

He’d deduced correctly regarding the bantha in the room. The sensation of relief was thick and immediate, her pique melting into a mélange of shame and defiance.

“We kissed.” Ari delivered the news like a dare, ready to defend or debate. “And—”

“It’s all right,” he stopped her, swift with blanket absolution. 

Challenge flickered in her eyes as she processed his rapid reply. Luke fought back an unexpected smile at Ari’s indignant expression, his mouth tingling from her admission.

She was something else, this woman. It wasn’t hard to imagine her running a company…or a planet. There was more than merely a sense of authority to Arihnda Pryce, there was an aura of entitlement and audacity that made her exasperatingly stubborn and no doubt dangerous, in her prime. Maybe even now.

“All right?!” She glared at him. “You just…” Ari pushed away from her position next to him, torso twisted to maintain eye contact. “…you’re _fine_ with that? Not angry, or disgusted, or feeling betrayed or anything?”

Luke shook his head, gave a half-shrug. Maybe there _should_ have been some element of that, but there wasn’t. He couldn’t say he was surprised. Or blamed her. Kissing may have led to more, but Luke quickly and successfully stopped his brain from going there.

“You didn’t kiss _me_ , really, did you? You kissed _him_.”

He was trying to make her feel better, and obviously hadn’t helped. Maybe she was regretting she _hadn’t_ done more, based upon his reaction. Another hypothetical Luke strangled in its tracks.

“Yes... It was…” 

The sentence hung unfinished, all the fire that had just blazed in her words unceremoniously snuffed out. Ari’s hands fisted in the dirt alongside her thighs, perhaps debating whether to pitch the crumbly soil at him or burrow into it. She radiated a desperate fragility, her uneven legs restless, awkwardly placed as she looked away. Confusion had replaced remorse, turned her defiance into sadness.

She had wanted him to fight—to argue, to give her an outlet to vent her misery and grief. In denying her that, he’d withheld some familiar refuge. Luke knew this as if they'd argued a thousand times, although he didn’t know how. Every nerve and muscle in his body screamed at him to comfort her, take her in his arms, even as he tried to focus on a less charged, more appropriate response. He battled a squall of convoluted emotion, foreign and destabilizing. Controlling these impulses felt wrong somehow, but Luke did it anyway, slowing his breath and pulse with effort.

“I understand.”

“You don’t understand anything,” she snarled.

“Ari, look at me.” She did, inexplicable panic in her eyes. “I asked you that question because you _wanted_ me to ask it. So you could stop feeling guilty.”

“Oh thank you so much Master Jedi!” she fumed, cheeks flaming and wet. “How do you even stay alive with this attitude?! You don’t care about anything? You don’t get angry about anything!”

“I get angry,” Luke said evenly. “But not about this.”

There was a moment’s pause, no sound except the fire’s crackle and the syncopated respiration of Ari’s laboring lungs. 

“Ari...” Luke held out a palm, but she only stared at it. “I _had_ to expect something like that.” His voice softened, thinking about what the Force had been able to facilitate and still in awe of its power. Shoulders hunching, Ari seemed to retreat into herself, uncertain and unable to continue her rant. Luke dropped his fingers, resting them lightly atop one clenched, dirt-covered fist. Her skin was chilly, blue veins made stark by contracted muscles. 

“Why wouldn’t he want to touch you, given the chance?”

For a long, meaningful moment, there was no response. Then, in reluctant, slow-motion surrender, Ari moved back to his side. “That makes sense,” she whispered. Seconds later, she was shaking—silent, tearless sobs wracking her thin frame. Luke wound an arm around her, letting her sink into comfort and closeness. The guilt was gone, but loss remained. Those well-worn emotional shields were too battered to hold anything back, and she yielded. It was all too evident that it wasn't condolence Ari needed, but contact. Probably what she had needed for a long time.

Ari stayed there for a while in his one-armed embrace, her own limbs limp and forgotten. Luke again felt a shift in the Force. This morning, she'd been light, happy. Now, that contentment he’d sensed earlier in the day was hidden, clouded. In its place, a bleak, darkened tendril had snaked a path through her aura.

“Ari.”

She sniffled into his armpit.

“You’re not thinking about leaving, are you?”

It was the most gentle way he could put it, but this question seemed far more important than any others about the time she’d spent with a ghost.

“Maybe a little.” The words were mumbled, but then she straightened up, wiping her nose with a forearm. “You said it was nice.”

“It is nice. But he’ll wait for you.”

“I know.” 

Her affirmation brought confidence with it, and the insidious chokehold of despair threatening her fragmented as Ari continued. “The brilliant Grand Admiral is still just as much a know-it-all as when he was alive. Gave me some nerf tripe about ‘existing’ versus ‘living.’” She let out a dignified snort, clearly disagreeing with that assessment. “He said I should leave with _you_ , actually...”

“Did he?” 

Luke wasn’t surprised at Thrawn’s proposal, although the _lack_ of surprise was odd in itself. Maybe deep down he’d known this was part of the responsibility he’d been given, part of the promise he’d reflexively made by offering to help. In any event, Luke wasn’t exactly sure how to interpret the ghost’s suggestion, and Ari didn’t elaborate, not right away, just a nod.

“And you told him I wasn’t your type?” The tease had been intended to lighten the mood, but Ari stiffened against him instead of laughing. Luke raised an eyebrow, said nothing. Patient.

“He didn’t say _where_ ,” she finally went on, filling the silence and ignoring his comment. “But he mentioned…” She shook her head. “Forget it.”

It was one of the stranger moments of Luke’s life, even counting attaining temporary oneness with the Force and all the bizarre, horrible, and magnificent things that he’d experienced over the years. Whoever Ari had been in the Empire was no longer important—as far as Luke was concerned, that hurdle had already been cleared. She had skills, Luke could readily admit. Besides the caving and camping things, a former administrator at her level had to have mastered the inner workings of bureaucracy. 

But she wasn’t quite _reformed_ , no professed regrets for the crimes of her past. That was the sticking point, and why—despite the evolving protectiveness that now accompanied his prior, established sense of responsibility—Luke didn’t really know how to respond. His hesitation was noted. Instantly, Ari’s defensiveness was back; Luke saw the hurt in her eyes at his failure to find words. She shoved away from his arm, quickly putting distance between them.

“I said forget it! I don’t want to come to your little school for baby Jedi, and I _would_ kill myself before I worked for the New Republic. Stop looking at me like that!”

A muddy rush of shame flooded his chest, and Luke tried not to resent the unjustified emotion, knowing it was likely tied to that forewarned spiritual residue. Ever since he’d woken up this morning, a deeper brand of concern and possessiveness had colored his feelings regarding this inscrutable woman. Unfortunately, the simplest explanation was also the most disturbing one. Luke didn’t want to imagine what other, more toxic droplets of Thrawn’s personality may have polluted his psyche when they switched places.

“Arihnda…” 

“Stop that. Stop sounding like him.”

Luke’s eyelid twitched. He drew on a slow cycle of breath to center himself, finding some encouragement in the fact that she hadn’t retreated into her tent. He didn’t want to channel _any_ part of Thrawn, but she was right. He'd never called her by her full name before. Not like that. And now he'd wounded her, that was clear, when she had finally let herself trust him. An apology, Luke knew instinctively, would not be well-received.

“What would you do?" he asked instead. "Besides staying here? Without limits, anything at all.” She cocked her head as if about to contradict, but said nothing. “There has to be something you'd like to try.”

Pursing her mouth in a moue of disapproval, Ari plucked a twig from the ground and poked at the dying campfire. “You definitely sound like him now.”

“Thrawn said that? Suggested you do something else?”

A small grunt was her reply. The ashes glowed brighter and Ari set down the stick, lolling her head up to the sky. This time, closer to her, the rippled scars that travelled the arc of her throat looked even more raw, souvenirs of folly and defeat she’d always carry. The reminder of her wounds hurt as if they were his own, with the dullness of a forgotten bruise, something muffled and subdued, but too present to deny.

“I’d _like_ to be useful—busy even. To make things happen,” she eventually answered. The words carried all the sharp edges of dissatisfaction and impotence that accompanied her life now. “Nothing I’ve done since I got here has meant a damn thing.” Ari dismissed the last decades with an aristocratic wave of her fingers. “Maybe I should just book passage on a transport. Go somewhere different.”

“Lando!” Luke was amazed he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“Lando?” She cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve never heard of that system.”

He smiled at the assumption. “Lando’s a man, not a system.”

Ari blinked, once, twice. Then… “Lando _Calrissian_? Of the Nomad City mobile mining venture?”

It wasn’t that he’d forgotten how Thrawn had stolen Lando’s state of the art equipment on Nkllon, but Luke had expected Ari to be out of that particular loop. It ultimately was a good thing, though, that she _had_ heard of Lando—further proof she knew the industry. And Luke was fairly sure his friend’s ego could handle Ari’s prickliness if it made business sense.

“He’s a good friend.” Luke nodded to confirm her recollection. “Was just complaining to me that he’d bought administrative rights to an operation on Rustibar, but couldn’t find a competent manager. Isn’t that your area?”

“What kind of mine?” Her voice was still wary, but there was definite interest underlying the words.

“Oh…” Luke rubbed his forehead, thinking. “There were a few separate ores they were working with…” He searched his memory, lips twisting. “Lommite. Carvanium, maybe?” Looking over to the woman beside him, he wondered if any of that sounded correct. “Alloy-making metals, right?” Ari rolled her eyes in exasperation, making a ‘go on’ motion with her hand. “I can’t remember the third one. Lando's background is mostly gas mining, so this is a departure for him.”

Her blue eyes glimmered with curiosity, slightly narrowed as if trying to find the trap.

“You’re sure he’s looking to hire someone?” As the words came out, she deflated. “It doesn’t matter. My biodata is in the NR system, no doubt, from Imperial records. I can’t get clearance for a real job. As soon as they learn I’m alive, I’ll be arrested.”

Luke gently elbowed her ribs with a grin. “I know people.”

“Criminal people?! New _biodata_ slicing people?” She gaped at him, disbelief in her face as well as her voice.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “Smugglers, slicers, pirates, the galaxy’s finest scum and villainy.” Luke’s grin widened. “Some of them even owe me favors.”

Ari beamed for a faction of a second—clearly the idea of escaping this prolonged yet prudent exile was appealing, but she was afraid to hope. Unwilling to change. Not yet. Luke felt it.

“I don’t know,” she murmured. Luke sensed her fear, her uncertainty of a different future than the one she’d seen as inevitable for so long. “Maybe…”

Luke didn’t push. It was a fact that Lando was always complaining about partners and foremen and his inability to find reliable supervisors. His friend would probably love to have someone with a stricter work ethic, who didn’t just know mining from the business end, but could jump into a cave and knock heads together if necessary. Just a few weeks ago, Lando had detailed the Rustibar project’s challenges to everyone over a case of Corellian ale at Han and Leia's. Ari would be a good fit, Luke was certain. But it would wait until tomorrow. She could, he reflected with a sense of satisfaction, sleep on it. For the first time in a long time.

So Luke changed the topic.

“Tell me how it happened.”

“What?” The word was shaded with suspicion.

“How you and Thrawn found one another.”

From her barbed tone, he’d expected her to pull away, or spit out a refusal. Instead, Ari settled boneless and heavy against him. Mumbling an unintelligible phrase, her lips moved against his tunic. Luke waited, slipping an arm once again around her, and Ari turned her head to be heard.

“It was Ascension Week. A gala…he was only a senior lieutenant…”

~~

Ari talked until exhaustion slowed her words. That alien protectiveness that had lingered grew stronger when Luke took her into her shelter. He supported her easily as she kicked off her boots, still talking, the sounds losing shape as she slumped in his arms.

It was times like this that the Force was a particularly helpful companion, and Luke used it to open her bedroll and assist in sliding her in. As he pulled back, her blue eyes opened, foggy and sad.

“Are you going to stay?”

Her haunting had ended. Thrawn’s ghost wouldn’t return, entrusting Luke with Ari’s fate, or believing whatever she’d promised to grant him peace. 

Luke knew that wasn’t the reason for the question. 

She didn’t want to have to ask directly.

“Yes.”

He left briefly, retrieving his own sleeping bag, and returned to lay it out next to her. A few minutes later, bootless and shirtless, Luke slipped into its cushioned warmth, hand outstretched in invitation. Without a sound, Ari scrunched her bedroll closer, lying over his arm, curling against the outline of his body.

There were no token “good night”s, no empty assurances of a better tomorrow. Her eyes closed, the wrinkles in her forehead gradually fading as the seconds passed. Soon she relaxed, heavier and solid at his side. Whatever the future held for the former Governor of Lothal, Luke felt confident she, like the ghost she’d set free, could move on and be content. She’d suffered enough, and he would continue to help. Like he’d already told her, their futures were, however unlikely it seemed, tied together now.

When they returned to the city tomorrow, if Ari agreed, he would comm Lando. And give Ghent a buzz as well, to take care of the shadier data-related aspects of Ari’s return to the workforce. Then back to the Academy, where teaching seemed like the best thing in the galaxy to put this adventure into perspective. 

He’d ask Tionne to research the archives for information about cleansing the soul of foreign spiritual contaminants… Luke didn't mind the affection and concern that had bled into his own feelings for Ari; he liked her, much more than he would have predicted. Even if that wasn’t entirely his own decision, Luke didn’t mind the reality of it. Still, it would be a relief to eliminate any of the Grand Admiral’s less admirable traits that may have sprinkled ghostly sediment throughout his personality. 

Thrawn's spirit was at rest, and Ari would sleep through the night once more. Luke allowed himself a smile at the shelter's synthcloth roof and closed his eyes. Things had worked out, as they usually did when he trusted in the Force. 

As if on cue, a faint snore drifted up from the woman huddled against his chest. Fatigue hit with the strength of a physical blow, and Luke succumbed to halcyon sleep in seconds, his colorful dreams riddled with glaciers and layered with gouache.


End file.
